A Wizard's Companion
by Destinies Creator
Summary: "It must have been a very great amount, to require Lifeprice to be paid. There's no higher payment that can be made." Carl fell silent a moment, then said, "Well, one." And his face shut as if a door had closed behind his eyes. Tom/Carl (Revised February 2015)
1. Author's Note, Forward, and Prologue

"A Wizard's Companion"  
>We are one, after all, you and I<br>Together we suffer, together exist  
>And forever will recreate each other<br>–Pierre Teilhard De Chardin

Title: "A Wizard's Companion"  
>Author: desrose, "Destiny's Creator" "Destinies Creator"<br>E-mail: pup4588  
>Fandom: "Young Wizards" © Diane Duane<br>Category: Slash  
>Pairings: TomCarl, Carl/OFC, One's Champion/Lone Power, mentioned Nita/Kit and Dairine/Roshaun  
>Genre: FantasySci-Fi  
>Date: August 31st, 2006- September 26th, 2011<br>Feedback: Yes, please. Constructive criticism always appreciated.  
>Archive: myriadwords , youngwizards, desrose , and (Destinies Creator)<br>Rating: Fan-Rated Teen (FR-T)  
>Disclaimer: Without prejudice, the majority of the characters and universes contained herein are the property of Diane Duane. No Infringements of these copyrights are intended and are used without permission. All other original characters and plot devices are property of the author and may not be reproduced without expressed permission. Chapter titles and summaries are taken from The Magician's Companion by Bill Whitcomb.<br>Summary: (Challenge 108) "'All it said was that you were going to have to pay back the exact amount of energy used up at some future date. And it must have been a very great amount, to require Lifeprice to be paid. There's no higher payment that can be made.' Carl fell silent a moment, then said, 'Well, one.' And his face shut as if a door had closed behind his eyes."  
>Warnings: Coarse language. References to violence. Non-explicit adult themes. Any prejudiced views expressed by characters are not reflections of beliefs the author holds and are not meant to be offensive to any person or people.<br>Spoilers: "Young Wizards" series up to book eight—Wizards at War  
>Dedications &amp; Acknowledgments: To all the colors of the rainbow—and to what and who they represent—may our banner forever wave!<br>And of course to my betas: non_canon and labellementeuse , without whom none of this would have been possible. Thanks for the help throughout the years...

**Forward**:

The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.

In this universe there is a language, the Speech, which is absolute. Everything existing and non-existing is defined by the Speech.

Within the Speech there are twenty laws or "axioms." From the tiniest atom to the highest of The Powers That Be, all obey these laws. They cannot be broken.

At least, until now...

**_PROLOGUE_**

_Present day_—Annie's POV

The dog Annie heard the Calling.

She tried to shake it off, tried to ignore it, she had done her Duty for the night. But the Call was insistent and growing more urgent.

Finally, growling slightly in irritation, she Answered and as a result was instantly taken. She could feel Monty and Dudley do the same.

The Hunt was on.

_Present Day—_Dairine's POV

It was dark, everything still, until a pair of lights came into existence, piercing the night and making it vanish at Nita's bedside. The lights expanded to let two sheepdogs step out into the room. Then the lights were gone. The darkness was back, bringing with it Annie and Monty.

Dairine scrambled to give them space, looking at each—and a still snarling Dudley in front of her—in turn.

Annie and Monty paid her no heed as one after another they jumped atop a still-sleeping Nita, who woke up with a jolt and a painful groan.

_But was she really awake? _Annie thought fearfully and started to bathe her face.

_Thump _she went as she rolled out of a bed not made for quite so many wiggling bodies.

Dairine winced, "Mind explaining what's going on?" Annie heard her say. She had directed the question at her sister but was probably willing for anyone to answer.

Annie wouldn't answer and neither would the other dogs. Not now, not ever.

_This is not the time, _she stressed to Nita.

"Not now, Dair. I've got to get dressed and see Tom and Carl!" Nita got up off the floor, turned on the lamp on her chest of drawers, and started frantically searching for clothes.

"But what is it? What happened? And what are _they_ doing here?"

"Long story," Nita gasped. "I'll tell you when I get back."

Nita, Annie observed, suddenly adopted a look of great concentration. Then sighed, "Of course he's still asleep, he needs his rest after what happened."

"Who?" Dairine questioned.

"Kit."

There was a silence between them interrupted by a bark, Annie's order to go faster. Dudley tried to encourage her by dancing around and retrieving certain articles of clothing.

"That one," Dairine said after a while and pointed to Dudley, "Bit me."

"Really?"

"You were having a nightmare or something, enough to wake the whole house, probably the whole neighborhood. I tried to wake you up but then _he_ appeared and wouldn't let me come near you."

_Good job Dudley, _Annie praised. Dudley just put on a goofy, innocent dog-smile.

"Is there something wrong, sweetheart?" Nita's dad looked in on all the commotion, coffee in hand and not saying a word about the dogs.

"I'm not sure, but I have to find out. Bye Dair, bye dad! I'll be back soon. Love you both!"

And then she ran down the stairs, dogs in tow.

_Present Day—_Annie's POV

It was barely sunrise when they stepped out the door. A crisp morning still dawning, they watched the human member of their pack layer herself with sweater, jacket, and scarf. Annie knew what she was doing and paid no mind, but Dudley tilted his head in confusion, even more so when he was picked up and wrapped in a blanket. Struggling to get away, he stopped at the look Annie gave him. Dudley calmed down in Nita's arms and they were off.

Annie was already panting hard before the walk even began, the wind freezing her tongue. It wasn't the chill that bothered her, she was comfortable in her own fur, instead her exhaustion came from an overly exciting night on the Dreamscape. That's what haunted her every move. She had to concentrate to make sure she was really "here" and not "there."

She needed actual sleep but her duties were not yet over, she was leading Nita to their home and Annie was anxious to get there. Unwillingly she had spent a night away from her pack leaders and, though they were Senior Wizards, it was her responsibility to protect and watch over them.

Recognizing various familiar scents she eagerly sped up, knowing home was close. She knew a lot of things now, more than ever before. All dogs did. But this was something she'd always known: home.

"Annie, wait!" she heard behind her as she broke into a run, but with a quickly barked order to the others to stay with Nita, she ignored the command. It was a taboo act and she would have to make it up to Nita later. Maybe take her for a nice walk or a game of fetch.

She wished she had the energy to make a simple personal gating, but knew that would have been a waste. Instead, she loped the last few blocks, taking shortcuts through yards and over walls. Finally she leapt one last hedge and was home. Much more calmly than she felt, she strode up to the front door.

_All right,_ she asked the house_, any intruders enter the premise?_

The house itself gave a negative, welcoming her back warmly and wondering where she had been.

Annie huffed. _Never mind that, are our masters okay? _

She was shown a scene of both of them sound asleep within.

Right now though, that meant they were vulnerable for attack.

She was about to rouse them herself when Nita came up behind her and rang the doorbell instead. Annie decided that was enough. She contemplated howling to be certain they were awake but didn't want the attention. Especially not from The Wolf Who Ate the Moon, who always listened closely to what dogs have to say.


	2. Chapter 1: Law of World Views

CHAPTER 1: LAW OF WORLD VIEWS

"You participate in creating the world by perceiving it."

_Present Day—_Tom's POV

Tom Swale wasn't fully awake yet, as anyone living in New York long enough couldn't be without caffeine, but at least he managed not to trip on the stairs as he made his way down.

He was tired. It was Saturday morning after all, the one day he and Carl were permitted to sleep in…

_Ding dong._

…not that the Universe would necessarily allow it.

Tom sighed. As a Senior Wizard he was supposed to be used to round the clock visitors—just not necessarily ones who used the front door. He tried not to wince at the quick succession of knocks that followed.

Tom peered through the peephole to find an extremely nervous looking Nita Callahan on the other side. Confused—though an untimely visitation from one of his charges wasn't unheard of—he opened the door.

A squirming, panting, overly-excited ball of fur was promptly thrust into his arms.

"Dudley?" Tom asked incredulously, nearly dropping the wriggling rat terrier in surprise. This didn't deter the pup from proceeding with his duty to wash Tom's face.

Needless to say he was awake now, a saving grace as two white and gray streaks raced past him—nearly knocking him over in the process—skidded down the hallway, and enthusiastically bounded up the flight of stairs, taking two or three at a time.

A few seconds later he heard two simultaneous _thunks_ and a half-cursing "Ngghh!" (™ Carl Romeo). He could picture it perfectly: their sheepdogs, Annie and Monty, leaping gleefully onto the bed—and Carl himself.

Nita grinned up at him in weary amusement, "Missing something?"

_Yes, in fact, something had been missing_, he mused. When he'd woken he'd vaguely thought he had had far too much room to move around in, the twin weights on the bed's end and the slighter weight on the pillows—not to mention the morning whines for breakfast and walks—had all been noticeably absent.

"Now that you mention it, I thought things were a bit too peaceful around here. Care to explain?" Tom kept his tone friendly and inviting.

Nonetheless, Nita hesitated. "It might take some time, I'm not sure I understand it myself—"

"Then come on in, it's freezing out there. Have you had breakfast?" Yawning and shaking her head 'no', Nita entered, handing Tom her jacket and scarf.

He set Dudley down, unwrapped him from the blanket he'd been carried in, and let the tiny terrier rush off to join the other two dogs.

Tom watched him go, then proceeded to lead her back into the kitchen area, shooting Nita a pained look while thinking: _Should I even ask what your father had to say about this?_

Instead of voicing that thought aloud though, or through mind-speak, Tom started with another, easier question, "Would you like something to start with? Coffee maybe? Or, wait, you wouldn't like that would you…"

"I've tried coffee before. Tastes like chalk." Nita made a face. "I don't even like the frappuccinos with all the caramel stuff in it. Kit's crazy 'bout them though."

Tom chuckled, "It's an acquired taste. How about tea or hot chocolate? Either of those sound any better?"

Nita perked up, "Hot chocolate would be fine."

He rummaged through cupboards before surfacing with two small packets—one for hot chocolate, one for peppermint tea. Then he put a kettle full of water on the stove and pressed a button to start the coffee machine. "I'm not fond of too much coffee myself, unless it has a lot of cream or sugar in it, but for Carl it's his life's source. Black and scalding hot, every morning. Trust me, you don't want to meet him on a day he hasn't had his coffee..."

They heard the soft thumping of paws echoing off the wood flooring and both turned in time to see the dog pack—or the "Three Stooges" as Carl liked to call them—wander in with only one question on their minds…

Tom sighed in resignation. "Excuse me for a minute."

A while later—after the dogs were fed and happily napping beneath the table—Tom looked over to where Nita sat blowing on her cocoa.

"So…?" He prodded gently from where he leaned against the counter's edge, mint tea in hand.

On a whim, she reached down to rub behind Annie's ears, the dog in turn gazed up at her encouragingly; both of them appeared exhausted.

Tom, noting the exchange, looked between the pair. "Which one of you should I ask?"

"Tom—" she hesitated. "We've known each other for a while now, right? And we're friends too, not just Wizards?"

"Of course Nita," he said carefully.

"Then can I ask you something? Something personal?"

Tom nodded, giving her his full attention, "Go ahead."

"What was your Ordeal like?"

Silence passed, unbroken for several minutes, until Tom turned away, murmuring, "That _is_ personal, isn't it?"

Nita's embarrassment was evident.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, blushing fiercely, "I wasn't the one who wanted to ask— I was told to."

"By who?"

Nita looked deliberately under the table.

He sighed. "I guess this is going to take some telling, the beginning's as good a place as any to start..."

Nita took a deep breath. "Well, I was asleep and I was exploring a part of Time Heart—kind of a Time Heart within a Time Heart really. Dairine was looking for Roshaun there. She didn't find him." She stopped as Tom nodded at the implications of what that meant, then started again. "Next I was back in the Commorancy—the one we told you about, where the Hesper was born. I talked to the Lone Power and then to the peridexis—you know, the soul of the Manual..." She trailed off, not all Wizards knew of the peridexis or could even acknowledge its existence.

Tom waved away her concerns. "I've talked to it many times myself. Always interesting conversations those and well worth remembering. And I understand why you're keeping this short Nita, nothing's more private than what goes on in dreams, especially the dreams of others as the case well may be. I know this must be hard for you to share, but if I am to help you..."

Nita shook her head. "Everything important starts after that, I just needed you to know where I was."

"I understand, go on."

"Well, I was back in my dream and ready to release control, get some proper rest. But then this golden Door appeared... I know I shouldn't have opened it, Tom, but it was just so entrancing and...and...

"As soon as I entered though I knew I was in trouble. I found myself in a place that wasn't a place and... it definitely wasn't lucid dreaming anymore Tom. Even though I was aware of everything, I had no control whatsoever. I knew it was a dream and all, but for some reason that wasn't very reassuring. In fact it was terrifying..."

Nita paused to consider her next words. "This world, or place, or plane—whatever—was indefinite. That's the best word for it...and I mean _extremely_ indefinite. Like, I've never had that loose a grip on reality _anywhere._

"I called out for Kit—or tried to—not with my voice, cause I didn't have one, but with my thoughts maybe? Then I tried for Dairine, for you, for Carl, for dad, for _anyone_. All it did was echo back at me. I felt like I was completely cut off from the human race, or from any race for that matter, and that wasn't a good feeling..."

Tom's outlook was grim but that was only because he knew...

He knew...

But it wasn't possible that she was there...

...was it?

Tom leaned back with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. _I don't know how to describe this to her. I don't even know if I _can_ describe it—or if I could, if I'd be allowed to do so..._

_Or if I could, would I?_

Nita had stopped talking when she realized that he wasn't paying attention to her anymore. An awkward moment passed between them as words failed Tom.

"I turned around and there was Ponch, waiting for me, wherever 'there' was." Nita said at last softly, sadly. It didn't seem like him though, or at least not how I remember him. And he called himself something else too—no, that's not right, he's _known_ by something else now. _Aethelwulf._" She whispered the name, as if scared to say it aloud—at least in this world.

Tom sighed, thinking hard before finally assenting, "The Dreamscape. Accessible to all of Creation on only a Subconscious level—apart from dogs who can go there at will. But for the rest of us, that means only in dreams. During that time we have to be protected from our dreams and the Dreamscape has to be protected from us. Dogs are those Protectors—the chosen Guardians of the Dreamscape."

He smiled down briefly at Monty, whose feet were twitching as though running in his sleep, and then frowned. "He's not necessarily dreaming of chasing down rabbits when he's doing that."

He looked up to find Nita studying him with a rather closed expression. "Why didn't you tell us before?" she said.

Tom blinked. "Excuse me?"

"When Kit asked where dogs go, why didn't you tell us the truth? Why didn't Ponch tell us?"

He sighed, "Aside from two people I know of—and now you—nobody really does know. Sorry, no _humans_ do or any extraterrestrials that I've found for that matter." Tom sipped at his tea, looking anywhere but at her. When their eyes did meet though, his were stern. "And if anyone does know anything they keep quiet. They don't talk about it. It's not a place meant for humans—or any other beings for that matter—and Ponch knew that.

"Listen Nita, in Wizardry you usually try to find out about as much of the known universe, or anywhere else you're in, as soon as possible. Then with such Knowledge you can have a margin of power over it. Well, there's a reason that this place isn't known. You won't find it in your Manual, Nita. And what I tell you isn't to leave this room. No exceptions. I don't care how Senior the Wizard ranks or how high a Power That Be demands it or what the circumstances are, you're not to tell a soul—and that includes Kit, your father, Dairine, Ronan, Sker'ret, Filif, or anyone else, understood? I want your word on your Oath as a Wizard."

He had her trapped. It was the most sacred of promises. It was also a matter of the highest trust. To break it in any way, shape, or form, meant not only consequences for her: she'd lose her Wizardry and the secret, maybe even her Life in extreme circumstances, but the person she made the vow with would lose all that as well—and perhaps more.

For a moment more she hesitated and Tom, sensing that she wanted to say no, leaned forwards uncompromisingly, his demeanor serious. Finally she nods once. "In Life's Name and for Life's Sake, in remembrance of Time's Heart, on my Wizardry so I am sworn." She spoke it slowly in the Speech, not happy about it.

"I accept. Thank you," Tom said in the same Language and relaxed a bit, drumming his fingers against the table as the pledge rooted itself into reality. Only then did he begin, "The Dreamscape is the Home of the Soul. It's the reason that dogs exist in the first place, in fact it is part of their Oath: to defend the hearts and minds of all. It's their domain and theirs alone. Nita, their task is not an easy one, nor one to be taken lightly.

"Listen closely now. What the dogs truly protect is our Subconscious. Our Subconscious is where our Wizardry and all Knowledge thereof comes from. It has to agree to our becoming Wizards before we're even consciously asked. Heck, it has to agree to Life before we're even born."

Tom gazed at her unwaveringly, willing her to process this. "Should anything happen to the Subconscious it would affect us all... not just Wizards. We are, after all, connected on the most basic of levels as One and together we would be lost forever. Like a fabric being unraveled by the loss of a single thread. Now, I'm not talking about the kind of loss like 'death' and then there's still Time Heart left over... No, I'm talking about the cessation of our existence. The extinction of our souls. Because that's what the Subconscious is... the principal portion of the soul. Creation cannot exist without that."

Nita swallowed hard.

"Unsurprisingly, if dogs want to protect _us_ then they have to protect _that_. And, in my opinion, that's why they got the job. Absolute loyalty and devotion. The definition of unconditional love. No one else could have been entrusted with such responsibilities.

"'God', 'Dog', how appropriate," Tom chuckled, at last breaking the intensity that had Nita rooted to the spot. "And as for _Aethelwulf_, well, that's just one of Ponch's many names now… it always has been a part of him."

"How do you know all this?" Nita demanded. "I mean—if no one really knows—then who told you?"

_"_Nita, I apologize, but my Ordeal is _not_ something I wish to revisit with you._"_ Tom's reply was strained but firm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, chastised, and Tom momentarily wondered if he had ever talked down at her before. She was not a child, not any more, he reminded himself sadly.

Tom quieted, briefly in a world of his own, before he cleared his throat and straightened. "So now that you understand all that..."

"I'm not so sure I do."

Tom smiled grimly, "Neither do I, but let's press on. What happened there?"

Nita frowned. "I'm not...the details are rather fuzzy..." She looked to Tom.

"They'll get clearer with time." Tom said knowingly. "What I want to know is _how did the subject of my Ordeal come up?_"

"I don't know... I remember Ponch telling me things but I don't remember it all…"

"Yes, you do," Tom said softly. "Or at least your Subconscious does. Your conscious self will remember soon too. Not now maybe, but in time."

Nita didn't seem to be too thrilled about this. "He 'said' a lot of things to me. He said he brought me there for one." She started counting the points off on her fingers. "That something wasn't finished. He said that something wasn't right in the World…"

"Which 'world,' his or ours? Think, Nita, this is important. It's the reason I've told you this narrative."

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I'm sorry Tom."

"That's okay honey," he said, immediately regretting his tone. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, silently admonishing himself. "Not your fault. Keep going."

"He said that the Order was in danger, I remember that specifically—what was he talking about Tom?"

"There could be so many answers to that Nita I wouldn't know where to start."

"Well, he said you'd have the answer." Nita finished softly. "That your Ordeal was the answer."

_"What?!"_ exclaimed a strangled and entirely different voice.

Tom glanced up at the source hurriedly, nearly spilling tea in his now shaking hands. He dropped the cup to the counter's surface hard with a suppressed a curse.

His partner stood there in the doorway, hair wet from a shower, lips locked behind tight white lines. Nita realized with trepidation that when they'd told her that the universe was likely to be swallowed up by the black matter of the _Pullulus_, Carl hadn't been this upset.

"Now Carl…Carl, take it easy…_Carl! _Calm down!" Tom hissed.

But Carl wouldn't have any of it. A second more and he was at Nita's side, staring her down hard enough to make her squeak.

"What is all this about his Ordeal?" Carl's voice was cool and deceivingly collected. Nita shrank away from him.

_Carl! _Tom mind-snapped at him, _Stop it, you're scaring her!_

Carl hesitated then withdrew, blinking a few times in uncertainty at Nita. "Nita, sweetheart, I—" he backed down completely, pulling a chair away from the kitchen table, and gradually sitting down, shooting Tom a questioning side-glance.

"I'm sorry." Folding his hands in front of him, he turned his gaze to Nita.

"Any mention of our Ordeal makes me nervous," Carl explained slowly. "Know why?"

Nita shook her head, still watching Carl apprehensively.

"Because until we met you, neither of us remembered what our Ordeal was."

There was a brief uncomfortable silence as Tom poured Carl his coffee.

"I—I don't understand." Nita stammered.

"That makes two of us. Thanks," Carl said as Tom handed him the steaming mug and sat beside him.

_I told you he was scary without his coffee. _Nita jumped at the thought directed at her, and then tentatively smiled with Tom's accompanying wink.

Carl swirled the hot liquid, examining the depths pensively.

"Actually Nita, that's not entirely accurate. Before we met you, Tom here was the only one between us who actually remembered anything of the Ordeal. For the longest time, I didn't know what had happened; I didn't _want_ to know what had happened. But neither of us knew what it meant—until we met you."

"Nita," Tom interrupted briskly, effectively redirecting the conversation, "Fascinating as all this is, it doesn't quite cover how our dogs got to be with you."

"Oh, um, yeah. Well…" She looked at the dogs dozing at her feet. "After Ponch was finished with me, and I don't know how long that took..."

"Most likely time wasn't a factor."

"...uh-huh. Anyway, Annie and Monty came to 'get me.'" She gestured to the sheepdogs. "They said they 'found me.'" Tom smiled weakly at that while Carl rolled his eyes. "That they were there to bring me home. And then I woke up, and they were on my bed, licking me and scolding me 'for going.' And Dairine was there too. She said I'd been making a lot of noise throughout the whole thing, like I was having a nightmare. She would've woken me up except that Dudley here," she patted the terrier who was sound asleep on her lap, "was there too and he wouldn't let her. He actually bit Dairine."

Both Tom and Carl's eyebrows rose at that. They exchanged incredulous glances.

"You're lucky you didn't get your tail singed," Carl addressed the pup, who just yawned in response.

"Oh, not hard enough to break the skin or anything, just a warning nip. He explained later on the walk home he had to do it; that if she'd waken me up while I was gone, Monty and Annie wouldn't have been able to bring me back."

"That's true enough," Tom reflected thoughtfully. "Would've probably left you in a catatonic state— like many coma patients, your consciousness would've been permanently severed and unable to return to your body..." He cleared his throat briskly.

"It's not in the Manual you know," Nita began again after a long pause. "Your Ordeal, I couldn't find anything."

"Well, that's because our Ordeal isn't recorded anywhere that anyone could read." Tom said, "Not within the Manual, not even within the pages of _The_ _Book of Night with Moon_. And none of the Powers—save the Lone Power, the One's Champion, and the One—know of it either because…"

"Because in reality it never happened," Carl finished for him with a wry look, "The only proof we have of our Ordeal is that this Universe still exists—and there are human Wizards in it."

"I'm glad you've done your research though." Tom gave a pleased smile. He got up from his chair and picked up his tea, motioning with his free hand for the others to follow his lead. "Now, before we go on any further, how about we adjourn to the living room? Our couches are probably more comfortable than these wooden chairs. And this will most likely take a while."

"Why don't you tell anyone about your Ordeal?" Nita asked as they made their way to the den.

Carl looked to Tom, Tom looked to Carl, and they both shrugged.

"Well, you see, it's sort of personal…"

"We know it'll probably come out sooner or later, hopefully once we're gone…" Carl added.

"But until then, the human race as it stands probably isn't willing to face what it took to save it." Tom sighed regretfully. "You'd be surprised how much bigotry still remains Nita, even in the Wizarding world. Things are fine when it concerns other species, but sometimes…"

"I don't think we need to go there just yet," Carl stopped him. "Let's just tell Nita the story and see what she decides. Come on Tom, we can trust her. Who knows," he turned to Nita, "your reaction might just change our minds about this."

They were silent for a time as everyone took a seat, Nita in the recliner and Tom and Carl on the couch.

At last Carl asked, "Remember when I told you, Nita, that there was no higher payment than Lifeprice except one?"

Nita shivered. She did remember, she remembered almost everything about her time with the whales. It had been one of the most thrilling and terrifying experiences of her life. It was the first time she had truly thought she was going to die. She remembered every word:

_'"All it said was that you were going to have to pay back the exact amount of energy used up at some future date. And it must have been a very great amount, to require Lifeprice to be paid. There's no higher payment that can be made." Carl had fallen silent for a moment, then said, "Well, one." And his face had shut as if a door had closed behind his eyes.'_

"Our realization began with this…" Tom, who had called his Manual to him, slid it over to her across the coffee table with a page already open. Carl's Manual soon dropped out of thin air, landing on the same page.

Both their Manuals, in identically bold, enthusiastic lettering, read the following:

**Greetings and Congratulations, welcome to your newest status as Senior Wizards! **

"It's your acceptance letters," Nita murmured to herself.

Carl answered her. "Yep, came the same day as you, Kit, and Fred did—shortly after you arrived in fact. No coincidence there."

**As with any promotion, there is an Ordeal to pass, to make certain you are the right Wizard for the job. As a Senior you will be highly depended upon and, as more and more knowledge becomes known to you, the peril to your Life will increase exponentially. As a result, so will the power available to you. As a Senior, you will not specialize too seriously in one aspect of Wizardry, but in all aspects of it, thus—**

There wasn't anything too bad that she could tell—mostly precautions and fore-warnings against the occupation, along with preliminary suggestions for determining aptitude. It seemed pretty standard issue for any Wizarding level promotion.

"I don't understand," she finally admitted after reading the whole thing through a few times.

Tom, face slightly pale, pointed to one line:

**Naturally, your Ordeal for becoming a Senior Wizard will be based off the Ordeal you initially passed to become a Wizard…**

"That's where our trouble started," he confirmed.

Carl stiffened visibly.

Tom, careful to not let Nita overhear, thought at him firmly _I'm here._

Outwardly, Carl didn't react more than a nod, but inside all he could think back was:_ Thank the Powers_.

Tom refrained from pointing out that the Powers didn't have much to do with it.

Carl cleared his throat, pulling his mind away from Tom's reluctantly. "I wanted to tell them no," he said to Nita when she looked up. "They couldn't force us to be Seniors; power doesn't live in the unwilling heart, remember? And at the time, we were unwilling—or at least I was—but Tom convinced me otherwise.

"He said you needed us to be willing—you and Kit and Fred. And he was right. With _The Book of Night with Moon_, if you had needed our help, if you couldn't handle it—and we had no indications that you could—we weren't on the level to do anything with our current Wizarding status. I think your exact words, Tom, were 'we're needed, Carl, if not at this moment, then soon—very soon—and knowing what's at stake, how can we say no?'"

Tom snorted, "And you know what his response was? And I quote, 'like this—no! No, no, NO!'"

"I couldn't lose you again," Carl justified, slightly hurt.

"Again?" Nita asked, "What do you mean, 'again'?"

She paused, waited, and continued on when no one answered immediately. "Tom, Carl, what happened on your Ordeals?"

Tom and Carl shared a meaningful glance, holding each other's gaze steadily. Both looked like they were struggling over the matter and Nita felt the reality around them shift in unease. Annie barked, annoyed, and they appeared to snap out of it.

Tom took a last, deep, unsteady gulp from his tea. He studied the empty cup shakily, as if he'd never look up again. "Now _this_ calls for coffee."

Nita giggled slightly at that.

"I'll get it," Carl volunteered, grabbing the mug, "Tom, you go ahead and start."

"If I must," Tom led off uneasily. "Like I said, it all began shortly after you left Nita..."


	3. Chapter 2: Law of Attention

CHAPTER 2: LAW OF ATTENTION

"World views have inertia."

_May 20__th__, 1985—__Tom's POV_

Tom Swale continued to smile congenially as he saw Nita, Kit, and "Fred" to the door, yet as soon as the door clicked shut behind them he let that smile falter, then vanish with a heavy sigh.

He suddenly felt very tired.

He took in a deep breath, _there are no coincidences._

And released it, _there are no mistakes._

Tom grimaced. He knew this better than most.

He knew by now how to spot those twists of fate and he knew this was no fluke.

As Peach had already pointed out, their coming here was no accident...

Being the Area Advisory for the New York Metropolitan Area, as well as most of the greater East Coast, the fact that Nita and Kit lived so close bothered him more than it should.

And it wasn't as though the Universe hadn't given him any warning either...

Earlier today he had been speaking with Rosie Lesser, the weekend librarian, with whom he was planning a fundraiser book drive. He'd be autographing and reading a few excerpts from one of his novels for the library.

Librarians didn't miss much and they usually knew much more than they let on. Since quite a few of the best Wizards were bookworms and it was almost a tradition to find Manuals in the library, being a librarian was the ideal day job for the practicing Wizard interested in helping the next generation.

She had told him to expect some new talent, and then went on to explain that a Manual had chosen a girl—or rather a girl had chosen a Manual—and that she anticipated much promise from this young lady:

_"Nita Callahan has been coming in as long as I can remember, Tom, I swear to you she's read every book here! I knew it was just a matter of time…" _

Tom saw dozens of new Wizards every month, what seemed like hundreds per year, all heading out on their Ordeals and first interventions...

He'd been doing this for years now—had known exactly what he was getting into when he took the Advisory's Oath—and in reality no, he didn't regret it. He just had the sinking feeling he was going to very soon.

_Why is this troubling me so much?_

He closed his eyes, trying to recall exactly what the Manual had to say on the subject of Area Supervision.

**Under any other Wizardly specialty, and in any other part of this Manual, one would receive straightforward, concise, and unambiguous instructions on how to function within the job assignment...**

**Only when Advising do none of the above apply.**

And that was that. There were no absolute answers for this job—just the time-tried conviction that it was worth it.

That these were kids he knew though, having idly spotted either one or the other when walking Annie and Monty past the schoolyard, even if he hadn't known their names before today...

It suddenly mattered.

They mattered.

But then again, they always mattered...

**There are certainly rules and regulations that are relevant, and must at all times be adhered to, but most carefully emphasized in this chapter is: 'keep a professional distance.' **

That was much easier said than done.

Suddenly he could remember every conversation he ever had with Betty Callahan; asking nonchalantly how her daughters were doing, always getting such enthusiastic responses in turn. What would she think of this—her daughter, a Wizard?

And that _The Book of Night with Moon _was involved...

**So much is reliant upon both the Advisories performing their duties and the advisees seeking that help fulfilling theirs...**

Of the novice Wizards sent to him, he'd made an attempt not to learn too much too soon about them. He didn't want to know more than was necessary, at first, in case they...

**It is never a question about caring—because Wizards, being servants of Life, always care...**

He didn't want to know.

**It's about how to best serve your purpose, constructively channeling the compassion, curving the empathy one might feel for a certain individual or their situation...**

He wanted to stay as methodical and detached as possible, preserving his sanity in the process.

That was all_._

But this wasn't the job of mainstream psychologists and doctors. He couldn't make referrals to others. He couldn't prescribe answers. There was no way of keeping a professional distance simply because _there was no distance. _And there couldn't be! This was their planet and they all had to work together to protect it.

And if he ever thought too much like that, the Powers That Be shoved one of these extra personal cases square into his lap, as if to remind him...

That yes, he did care.

Very much.

And there was no way he _couldn't._

While Wizardly principles were founded on unity there was no way he could be distant and isolated. While everything remained linked, how could he _not_ be wholly invested in the protection of Life and its principles? Emotionally, physically, and spiritually—giving up mind and body if necessary?

And whenever he lost one to an Ordeal, how could he not wish it had been him instead?

He knew that when he stopped caring, that would be the end of it—of advising and Wizardry for him.

And no matter what, he didn't want that.

**The Powers That Be are Themselves at odds on the issue of 'Power Play' and 'Interference.' Once upon a time, a Wizard might have received a helping hand from Ra or Thor or Athena—or some other higher or lower deity—and thought nothing of it, but no more.**

**Now the scales have turned—though when and where and for what exact reason this has occurred, no one's sure—but The Powers That Be are currently against too much assistance being given to Wizards of any ranking. Thus is preserved the freeness of will. **

_"You really are Wizards!"_

Nita and Kit though, he knew he couldn't really treat them the same—no differently than the others, but not the same either.

**And so, as Advisory Wizards, you are presented with a dilemma: a choice of how to best handle the job. **

He had to keep his distance, he'd certainly try, but he knew he couldn't—and he knew instinctively that Carl wouldn't be able to either.

Assuming, of course, they passed their Ordeal...

**Keep in mind that novice Wizards have the right to determine their own destinies and live their lives the way they choose, so long as they are properly informed of any and all consequences of that choosing. **

And, if they didn't, what _would_ he say to Betty Callahan the next time he saw her at a fundraising function?

**No one is to determine this or any other course of action for them**.

How could he look Harry Callahan in the eye again when he went to buy flower seeds?

**They must understand and hold true to the duty to Life stated within the Oath. That is the Advisory's singular obligation. These young Wizards must know all that that duty entails...**

_The Book of Night with Moon—_he had told the truth, he had _no_ _wish_ to read from it.

**Benefaction and helping these young Wizards is the primary goal.**

**Advisories, take problems on a case-by-case basis. Take comfort in your achievements and sorrow in the failures—though on these do not dwell too long, for there are always those in need of your guidance. **

**Stay in the present.**

**And most importantly **_**feel**_**. **

**Remember your responsibility. To remind that no one is alone in this! **

**And that you and they are what make Wizardry, and Life, possible.**

Someone barked at him, startling him out of his reverie.

Tom made sure to regain his composure, smile firmly back in place—though admittedly a touch grimmer—before turning to face his family.

His wasn't a "normal" family in the "traditional" sense, and he liked that just fine.

Instead it consisted of a scarlet and gold macaw, a fortuneteller and purveyor of unconventional wisdom, named Machu Picchu—Peach for short. Two English Sheepdogs, Annie and Monty, and a bouncy Rat Terrier, Dudley, who were all _very_ good at finding things. And a pond full of Koi who would just as soon spout out prophecies as any haiku.

And then of course, there was his Wizarding partner and best friend, Carl Romeo, who had once again disappeared under the sink in the quest to reclaim all the tools that had fallen in his efforts at plumbing. Carl and Tom shared in the philosophy that it wasn't necessary to use magic for everyday tasks. After all, there could be plenty of enjoyment in just living Life, no Wizardry required.

Tom started, realizing there was a sudden increase in dampness and pressure near his pants' legging. He glanced down curiously to find Annie leaning against him, panting hard and smiling up at him proudly. He gave her a pat.

"And just where have you been?" She looked at him innocently. Tom rolled his eyes; with his dogs there were never any simple answers. And sometimes it was better not to ask.

"You did well today, Annie," Tom said to her; getting down on one-knee to rub behind floppy ears in the good spot. He didn't bother using the Speech with her or any of their pets; they understood him just fine.

The ear-massage triggered a chain reaction: first her tail started to wag back and forth, then tremors traveled up and down her whole body caused her to writhe and squirm, finally the repeated thump-thump-thumping of a 'bunny foot' sent her sprawling to the floor, begging for a more centralized belly-rub and something more—_Milk Bones? _

The question wasn't verbal—or rather _just _verbal—it came from her body language too: her pleading eyes, her tail swishing side to side, and her paw pressed firmly against his shoulder.

Tom just continued to beam tolerantly.

She heaved a doggy-sigh resignedly and rolled to lie on her side, tongue lolling out as she panted in New York's muggy heat. After a while, she stretched, extending four paws to their fullest. She half-growled/groaned in lazy pleasure:

_They needed to see you and you needed to see them._

Tom reluctantly lowered himself to the floor beside her, this time cautiously using the Speech, "You knew _The Book of Night with Moon_ was missing?" He asked with some trepidation; the last thing they needed was _another_ oracle in the household...

Annie sneezed—a dog's version of a laugh: _Dogs don't read, remember? At least, not like you do... In Cyene it's simply_ _'The Howlings'_ _and I haven't heard it in a while, come to think of it. I don't know anything about that. Well, no more than what my packs' alpha Wizards say I need to... _She observed him good-naturedly under one bushy eyebrow, _but as the bird says, you four were destined to meet. _

At nearly four years of age she was still a bit young in dog years, yet there were times when the Ancient Wisdom that passed through all generations of dogs shone brightly in her gold-flecked eyes.

This was such a time.

Groaning, Tom rose and dusted himself off.

Annie stood too, hearing her two brothers' yapping outside along with a chipmunk's angry chatter. With the excitement of an awaiting Chase coursing through her, Annie quivered and looked to Tom for permission to join in.

He grinned at her, nodding towards the commotion, "Go show them how it's done."

"And close the door behind ya!" hollered a familiar disgruntled voice, the source of which was being dribbled on by various cleaning solutions. "This is hard enough to do without distractions..." Carl mumbled, deceivingly gruff.

Tom complied for Annie before strolling back into the kitchen/dining room to pick up the empty cans of soda. He paused when he reached where his and Carl's Manuals still lay open from the afternoon's use.

The Manuals themselves, as they were often wont to do, had opened to a page of their own accord and now beckoned to him. As Tom grabbed them and made to sit in a wicker chair, snippets of the day's conversation played back through his mind, in what he had come to recognize as his intuition relating to him that they were relevant: _The Book Of Night With Moon... Nita Callahan and Kit Rodriguez... Regional advisories meeting... Connected how...? _

It turns out he didn't need to look up anything in the Manual; he just needed to glance down.

Tom never actually managed to seat himself; instead he remained hovering over their respective Manuals. Frozen in place, his jaw dropped and his head swam. Later, he would have sworn he'd blacked out briefly.

Recovering slowly, still numb from the shock, he sank into the chair, and frantically started flipping through the ruffled pages, unwilling to believe what his eyes were telling him.

Until he read the line, that is, that made it all too real.

And that's when the world came crashing down around him.

_Present Day—_Tom's POV

"You tell the rest, because that's as much as I know for that day. Sorry," Tom added to his partner as Carl returned with two coffees in hand.

Carl sat down resignedly.

_Past—_Carl's POV

Carl had taken a breather from the grimy world of pipes and valves, both of which relentlessly detest at not working properly and consequently blame each other for it. The disharmony in this world got to him sometimes—and it was at those times Carl looked to Tom.

He had watched all of Tom's subsequent actions and reactions—from his widening eyes, to the creases that wrinkled his forehead when he frowned hard in thought. Up to and including when he grabbed their Manuals simultaneously and hastily started flipping through them both. And before Carl could ask for a _why_ to the strange behavior, Tom visibly stiffened and started shaking.

That was all the encouragement Carl needed to cross the room and place a hand on Tom's left shoulder.

"Hey, what's...?" He forgot what he was going to say. Staring up at him, at the beginning pages of both their Manuals, in identical bold enthusiastic lettering, there read:

**Greetings and Congratulations, welcome to your newest status as Senior Wizards!**

Carl gasped.

Like Tom, he hadn't spotted it at first.

He had his suspicions though. All the while he was beginning to celebrate, a tiny voice in the back of his head nagged him: _at what price? _

Carl chose to ignore it for the moment.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, slapping his partner heartily on the back, "Tom, this is wonderful! Just look at this, well-deserved promotions for the both of us—all that hard work paid off, we're finally being noticed!"

That little voice troubling his mind chimed in again, _by whom? _Only it wasn't the same little voice as before, it was Tom's. _Are you sure we want to be? _

He was about to wave this off too with promises of a retreat to Bermuda or the Greek Isles or that little planet Iliasis off Altair, but then he caught sight of the man himself.

"What do you mean? Tom, what's wrong?"

Tom, head hidden in his arms, was shivering with nerves. The hand Carl had clasped on Tom's shoulder became a conduit for his panic. Tom didn't open his eyes, but he sat up and—as if fearing Carl would pull away from the force of his emotions—both of his hands alighted on Carl's one and squeezed hard, leaning back in against him for support. Carl was then able to catch a glimpse of Tom's troubled expression and the following:

**As with any promotion, there is an Ordeal to pass, to make certain you are the right Wizard for the job. As a Senior you will be highly depended upon and, as more and more knowledge becomes known to you, the peril to your Life will increase exponentially. As a result, so will the power available to you. As a Senior, you will not specialize too seriously in one aspect of Wizardry, but in all aspects of it, and thus—**

Nothing too bad at first—mostly precautions and forewarning, along with preliminary suggestions for determining aptitude—but he kept on reading and soon enough, there it was: the source of Tom's fear in one line…

**Naturally, your Ordeal for becoming a Senior Wizard will be based off the Ordeal you initially passed to become a Wizard…**

Carl fell to his knees next to Tom's chair.

"We'll tell them no," Carl murmured, reassuring himself as much as Tom. "They can't force us to be Seniors. Power doesn't live in the unwilling heart, remember? And we _are_ unwilling..."

"They need us to be willing though," Tom cut him off remorsefully. "Kit and Nita, _The Book of Night with Moon_, if they need our help, if they can't handle it... We're not on the level to do anything. We're needed, Carl. If not at this moment, then soon—very soon—and knowing what's at stake, how can we say no?"

"Like this: 'no, no, no, NO!'"

Carl remembered hearing Tom's earlier words from the other room, _"But this isn't anything you two need to worry about. The Advisories and the Senior Wizards will handle it."_

He had no idea then those words would become a prophecy.

"You never told me," Carl whispered, "You never told me about our Ordeal and I never asked, even though I can't remember a damn thing. You were always so scared though… So I'm asking now: Tom, what's going to happen?"

He looked to his partner who had raised his head at the words.

There was a sudden shift in reality.

Tom, feeling it, smiled sadly. "Looks like you'll find out soon enough..."

Another shift.

"I'll find out what?"

"Just remember why I did what I did..."

Another shift.

"Don't forget me Carl."

"How could I ever...? Tom? Tom! What's going on?!"

Another shift.

"Just remember, Carl, that I..."

Carl blinked and Tom was gone.

And so was his Wizardry.

_Present Day—_Carl's POV

"Wait," Nita interrupted. "What do you mean by 'gone'? Gone as in... dead?"

Carl sighed, rubbing at his temples. "No Nita. Gone as in _gone_. Not in this world, or any other for the matter. He wasn't dead, how could he be if he never existed at all? You must understand that in that moment everyone forgot about him, because there wasn't anything to remember.

"And as for losing my Wizardry, I barely noticed it drain away. All I cared about at that time was that I could no longer feel Tom. It soon became apparent though that I wasn't the only one who had lost something. In a frenzy, I contacted all the Wizards I knew. How I still knew them, or anything about Wizardry, was an act of the One. Everyone who picked up the other line immediately said I was crazy after I told them my story and swore if I ever called them again they'd call the police. Apparently, loss of Wizardry wasn't affecting just me..."


	4. Chapter 3: Law of Synchronicity

CHAPTER 3: LAW OF SYNCHRONICITY

"…meaningful coincidences that cannot be described by the law of cause and effect."

_Past_—Carl's POV

In an instant, Carl had lost all he had in the world.

He couldn't believe it.

Carl knew just one thing, focused in on that thing: he couldn't sense Tom. He couldn't sense him. Carl didn't know if he was dead, or alive, or in pain… _because he couldn't sense him!_

Deep breaths, that's all he could take, deep, uneven breaths—in, out, in, out—even though it felt like his lungs were on fire.

The dogs were barking at him. He couldn't understand a word of it. The koi were jumping in their pond. He didn't know what they wanted.

Everything—everything he believed in, everything he treasured—was gone.

_Maybe it would be better if I were too…_ the idea trailed off in his mind, echoing, and—even though it would undoubtedly give the Lone Power an advantage—Carl couldn't stop the thought from surfacing.

A world without Tom wasn't a world he wanted to live in.

There was a flutter in front of him and his watery eyes glanced up and focused on a pair of black beady ones.

_Of course…_

"Peach!" Carl whispered incredulously. "You still remember me, right?—and of course, I can still understand you!"

He made a grab for the bird, but Machu Picchu flew just out of reach, landing atop the china cabinet.

"Peach?" Carl whispered in confusion; surely he had seen recognition...

"No more. No more. Braw, no more."

_Oh dear God,_ Carl thought with trepidation, _"Quote the Raven, 'Nevermore.'"_

"Peach, stop that!" Carl pleaded with her. "I know you can talk, so why are you doing this? Please, Peach, just help me find Tom!"

"No more," Peach shook her head, looking defeated. "Tom is no more."

Whatever was left of Carl's heart turned to ice, "What is that supposed to mean?!"

Peach didn't say another word, just continued to gaze at him sadly.

"Machu Picchu, is there a way to bring Tom back?"

"Braw, ask the question! Ask the question!"

"The question? What is the question? What's the answer?"

For the very first time that night, Peach looked him square in the eye. "You," Peach said simply, in a voice that very closely matched the one she used when giving Oracles.

"Ask the question!" she continued, looking at him with such power Carl was locked in place.

"Where is Tom?" Carl demanded.

"Ask the question!" Carl took that as a rejection.

"How do I find him?"

"Ask the question!"

"What do I have to do?"

"Ask the question!"

Carl listed at least a dozen more that came to mind, out of the trillion he still had left, but none seemed to satisfy the bird.

_ Just remember why I did what I did…_ Tom's voice was like a ghost echoing in his mind as Carl summoned the recent memory.

"Tom, what did you do? Why did you do it?!" Carl broke down.

It was several minutes until he realized that Peach remained silent. He glanced up at the bird that was cleaning her feathers with a sense of purpose.

"That's the answer, isn't it—I mean, the question," Carl wasn't asking.

Peach, no longer pretending to be just a regular bird, focused a look of intense scrutiny on him.

She took flight and landed on his shoulder, her beak just inches away from his ear. He could hear her soft breath and felt her tiny heart pounding when he caressed her.

"Now, what was your First Ordeal?" She spelled out for him softly.

"Peach, this is ridiculous, you know I can't remember! Only Tom knew and he's…"

"Braw, focus."

"On what?"

"Focus, focus, focus."

Carl, defeated, sank back against the sofa, folded his hands on his lap, and closed his eyes.

That's when the world went dark.

_September 29__th__, 1978__—Carl's POV_

An eighteen year old Carl crosses the street—filthy, grimy, and covered everywhere with motor oil. His clothes are torn and he scuffs his too-small shoes on the payment. His ma is going to scold him about the state he's in, but who cares?

He turns the corner...

Only to have someone barrel into him.

_What the...? _is all he can think before he meets the pavement.

"Jerk!" Carl says, or tries to say, his voice is muffled by the other man's shoulder. The other person has latched on tight. "Get off me!" He tries to pry hands loose from his shirt and thrust the other man away simultaneously.

"Please," he hears someone whimper. "Please, don't leave me alone..."

Carl rolls his eyes in exasperation. "I said get off!" Finally he stands up and simply lets the kid fall away.

"What's your problem?" Carl demands none too kindly, making a show of brushing himself off.

The other teen, as it turns out, just looks up at him apprehensively while sprawled on the ground. Prone. Vulnerable. Probably no more than sixteen years of age.

"Please," Carl hears him whisper, as though the boy was afraid the night air might carry his words, "Please don't leave me out here alone... I'm not from around here! I don't know where I am actually—someone just tried to grab me and might still be after me! My friends, well these guys I know, they dropped me off here—more like threw me out of their car actually—and then drove away and left me… I just got into NYU a month ago. I'm terrible with directions. I can't go more than a block from the University without getting lost. Please help me, I don't stand a chance on my own!"

"Shut up!" Carl hisses, bodily yanking the kid to his feet. "Do you want whoevah's after youse to find us?" The Brooklyn accent is thick as he checks in the direction the boy had come from. Carl knows from experience that his accent is only indecipherable when he is scared or angry. And right now he's both.

But there's no pursuer.

The other boy visibly flinches and shakes his head 'no'. Now that he's standing, albeit unsteadily, Carl gets a better look at him from under the flickering lamplight…

He's dressed in nice, nice clothes—way too nice to be off the street or living in this part of the city. Black pants that look pressed and a white button-down shirt complete with a collar and cuffs, though those were hidden as he had his sleeves pushed up. The only thing out of place was the dark, shoulder-length hair that looked like it was grown in rebellion.

He didn't know what, but something about him bothered Carl, angered him—his clothes? His reaction?—pushed his buttons in a way no one else did.

"You know I could pound you flat?!"

To emphasize his point, he hoists the other guy up by his collar and slams him against the nearest wall. The kid's teeth clack together and the gasp he forces out is a painful one.

But then, for some reason, Carl seems to hesitate. He could beat this kid to a bloody pulp, but what would that accomplish?

Plus, this kid, he seems…

Carl is virtually paralyzed.

Finally he wrenches himself away and lets the other kid slide down the wall to the ground. Carl's not a bully, not really.

"I'm sorry."

Carl blinks, the words aren't his.

"I'm sorry." The kid mumbles while rubbing at his bruised neck. He sounds... sheepish. "I shouldn't have run into you like that. It's my fault and—I apologize for it, really. I was just kind of spooked."

Carl looks at him intently again. The_ kid's_ the one apologizing?

Odd...

"What's your name kid?"

"Thomas, no—Tom! Tom Swale." He makes a face. "And I'm no _kid_."

Carl smirks at that. "Where you from Tommy?"

"God, I hate that name—I mean," Tom catches himself hastily, "San Francisco. Er—um—what's yours? Name, I mean. Wha—what's your name?"

"Carl."

He wouldn't volunteer his last name, in case Tom went to the cops.

Tom seems to accept it though. "Carl," he repeats to himself. "Nice to meet ya." And he actually smiles, offering his hand.

Carl just stares at him.

Tom lowers his hand slowly when it became apparent Carl wouldn't take it and shuffles his feet around a bit nervously. "Like I said, some jerks I know just left me out here and—where is here anyways?"

"Brooklyn. In the middle of the night. You're damn lucky I found you, you know, 'cause unless you got some sort of magic trick up your sleeve or something, you'd be a goner…" Carl trails off.

At some point during his tirade Tom's eyes had gone impossibly wide and then suddenly the kid is on the ground, frantically searching for something.

Carl eyes him suspiciously.

"I'm such an idiot!" He can hear Tom murmur as he feels around in the dark. "Oh God, what if I dropped it?! Do they send out replacements...?"

"What the hell are you mumbling about kid?"

Tom looks up at him innocently.

Too innocently.

"Oh nothing, I'm just talking to myself," Tom hastens to assure him. "You can go now if you like. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine—I know I must be keeping you from something. Thank you so much for your help by the way, but now that I've got my head together I'll be alright. I think I even know the way …"

Tom goes back to searching.

Carl starts looking around the immediate area too—and there, in a nearby gutter, he spots something. He walks over and picks it up.

It's a book.

And obviously what Tom's been searching for.

"Hey! Give me that! That's mine!" Tom scrambles to his feet and leaps up in the air…

But it's all too easy for Carl to keep the book well away from Tom and in his possession.

It is obviously an old book: the binding broken, the pages he flips through an aging yellow, and a few corners pressed down here and there as placeholders. The light's too dim to see any of the words but the volume itself is red and thick, yet small enough to easily conceal on a person. He closes the thing and feels along the embroidered letters on the front cover. Then he remembers…

"I have one just like it." He hands it back to Tom who looks more than a little flustered.

Upon hearing those words though, Tom's whole countenance changes. His face a study in wonder, he practically bounces himself off the ground in a sudden onset of eagerness.

"Are you serious? That explains it then! I knew I was drawn to you—that's the reason I was supposed to be out here! Well Dai'stiho and all that cousin, it sure is nice to finally meet another Wizard here!"

Carl just stares at him for a bit.

"What did you say?" Carl backs away a few steps in discomfort. "What the hell you rambling on about? You nuts or sumthin'?"

Tom's expressive face blanks. "I—ah—I didn't mean any of that. Really," he backtracks, "I, um, don't know what got into me. Listen, it was really nice talking to you and all but I, er, I gotta get going..."

With that he gives Carl one last parting smile, then breaks into a run.

"Hey! Where ya going?"

Carl chases him as far as the next block, rounds a corner...

...and completely loses sight of him.

The night, for once, is still. The area he's in completely quiet. Only the wind blowing a few rustling leaves across the street breaks the silence.

_Dai'stiho Cousin_, Carl thinks he hears echoed.

He shivers.

_Present—_Nita's POV

"Carl, there's something I don't understand…"

Carl reached for his coffee and took a grateful sip, "Go ahead Nita."

"If Tom doesn't exist, then how were you seeing him? Even in a vision of the past, of another reality, you said…"

"Yeah, I know what I said," Carl sighed. "Nita, it pains me to use this example but your mother existed didn't she? And she continues to exist in Time Heart. Why do you think that is? How do any of us 'exist'?"

Nita frowned for a few moments, then... "We exist because we know we exist."

"Ah, but that's only half the battle. We also exist because others know we exist. For me, Tom still existed. Even if for every other world, every other reality, even if for Time's Heart, he didn't. I learned very quickly that these weren't just visions of a different reality; they were of the same reality. They were memories of my reality."

"I still don't understand, didn't you and Tom meet at NYU?"

"Don't worry, I'll explain that later."


	5. Chapter 4: Law of Relative Truth

CHAPTER 4: LAW OF RELATIVE TRUTH

"Every statement is true in one sense, false in one sense, and meaningless in one sense."

_September 30__th__, 1978—__Carl's POV_

He still feels it.

Carl had held it earlier that day. Before school, before sunrise, while his brothers were still asleep—he had sneaked out of bed, pulled up one of the many broken floorboards, and removed the red leather bound volume that lay beneath. He carefully smuggled the book out the doorway and into the hall.

His preference of where to read it would have been the kitchen, perhaps search through the forever barren cupboards for a bite to eat. But he could already hear the sounds of early morning bickering between his father and mother, which would soon escalate in volume enough to rouse the rest of the house. Not willing to risk the front door squeaking, he reentered his room and exited through his window.

It was a cold morning, frosty, probably would have snowed if there had been any moisture, and an almost surreal silence hung in the air. At around four am in the winter months the city was as peaceful as it would ever be. And in his hands, the book was a solid weight.

He'd found himself handling the thing more and more.

The book looked to be exactly like the one that kid—Tommy, Carl's memory fought for the name; his name was Tom—had dropped. An exact duplicate even.

And then Tom had started babbling—Carl still wasn't sure what that had been about.

_'Wizard?' Did he say Wizard? I think he said Wizard..._

Carl remembered when he had first found the book, a week before he met Tom. He'd asked his little brother Lauro what the title was.

"A Wizard's Companion," the twelve-year-old had read out loud, slowly, syllable by syllable, looking up to Carl when he finished, wide-eyes anxious for approval, but with a touch of sadness in them too.

"I could have read it if I wanted to!" Carl had snarled, snatching the book back from small hands.

He could read, that wasn't the reason he was failing his classes...

Wizards, what rubbish!

Magic and fairy tales had died with his grandfather when he was six. Before that even, if he was honest. If Magic did exist, then where was it the first time he wanted to sink into the floor when his teacher called him stupid in front of the whole class? What about when Anthony was crying and Carl had to worry about getting them to bed and fed because there was nobody else there?

Carl forcibly shook off those thoughts. If Carl was smart, he would just chuck the book into the sewers to end up with the rest of NYC's trash in the Hudson. And maybe he'd throw himself in for good measure.

The door behind him slammed open and his father stomped past with such fuming gusto he misses Carl entirely. It was then Carl knew that another day at the Romeo Residence had begun.

Later he would decide to ditch his classes all together with the rest of his "gang." They would head into lower Manhattan for the day to check out the "Suits" and see if there were any pickings to be had.

It was a ways away but well worth the trip, for in Time Square there were always tourists for easy targets.

He was a thief and a pickpocket and after missing out on breakfast he could really use a lunch...

Breaking off briefly from his so-called "friends," he dodges taxis while crossing the street. They've already made the police officers, uniform and covert, in the area and it's much easier to remain inconspicuous in turn if they blend into the crowd rather than staying as a collective group.

Up ahead he spots the ideal Suit—money—well-dressed, nicely-groomed, and trying to juggle a suitcase while buying a chilidog from an impatient vendor. Seeing a hand slip around to a back pocket and pull out a fat wallet, Carl hurries forward. He doesn't want anyone else to zoom in on this chump change before he gets there.

The man fumbles with the money, eventually handing over a few bills, and taking the chili-dog with nodded thanks.

Carl makes his move.

Casually walking too fast, head bent low, he purposefully crashes into the unsuspecting stranger.

The man goes tumbling...

...only it isn't a man at all.

Staring up at him, in the same way as only a few days ago, is a boy...

Tom.

Carl gulps. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't recognize him.

And maybe pigs would fly.

The best course of action would be to run, except...

"Carl! Wow! Imagine running into you here!" Tom attempts to rise and brush himself off, but instead becomes hopelessly entangled with his bag's straps. "What a coincidence, huh? And the actually running into part—get it? Don't worry, it's probably my fault again. I'm such a klutz..."

_Move, move, move, _Carl's mind chants at him angrily. But the rest of him won't listen. He's frozen again, effectively held as captive as before...

"Anyways, what are you doing here? In this part of the city too? I mean, my God, there's millions here and I run into you... what are the odds?"

_My sentiments exactly, _Carl thinks.

"Hey!" Tom's eyes finally traveled from Carl's terrified expression to his hand. "That's my wallet! I probably dropped it when I fell. Thanks for—oh." He trails off weakly as realization of what Carl's actually doing there dawns on him.

_Innocent, _Carl thinks in despair_,_ _he's so innocent! Why'd it hafta be him?!_

"CJ!" Someone yells at him, he can barely make it out over the din. They're being watched then; the others are waiting...

He gulps again, not knowing what to do.

Tom's look is almost thoughtful. His eyes, however, narrow.

This is it, Carl knows. He'll scream this time—and who could blame him?

The thought makes him angry. But it's an irrational anger, because he knows Tom would be justified in doing it. Carl would do the same in his situation.

Somewhere he sees a beat cop round the corner and fear replaces the anger. People won't continue to bustle past them like they were for much longer, someone will stop, ask what's going on—

"Help me up," Tom says finally, reaching for him.

Carl can do nothing but comply.

When his fingers wrap around Tom's though, he feels something cool and hard being pressed into them.

Tom gives his best blindingly cheerful smile while his hand covers Carl's grip on whatever it was he now held.

"I knew we'd meet again," Tom murmurs, and somehow through all the yelling and the honking horns and the stampeding crowds, Carl hears him perfectly.

"It was great to see you Carl, until next time..." One last squeeze and Tom pulls away, picks up his suitcase, and effortlessly melts into the throng.

Carl stands there, dumbstruck.

"CJ!" Mike, his co-leader of their group, appeared beside him. "What was that all about?"

"I—have no idea," he answers truthfully.

"Well, what did you get?" Mike demands, before stopping abruptly. "Oh my God—"

Carl looks down. There, in his hand, glinting up at him innocently, was by all intents and appearances, a gold Rolex watch.

"Shit, that's gotta be worth—a couple hundred at least! Maybe a thousand if it's real and—Christ, he didn't even notice you nicking that?!" Mike looks around apprehensively, "Jesus man, let's get out of here before he realizes anything and pawn that sucker!"

Carl lets himself be led away in a daze. It's a few steps further before he realizes something else.

His other hand is empty.

Tom had taken his wallet back...

Tom had picked his pockets!

_Holy…_the thought astounds him._ Clever kid._

_Present Day_—Nita's POV

"And before I begin another lengthy bit," Carl looked up from the Manual he'd been holding, "Since we skipped breakfast and it's not quite lunch yet, anyone up for brunch?"

"Something simple," Tom added, "I'm thinking eggs and bacon. And yes, I know you're a vegetarian Nita, so we'll have some fresh fruit and toast too."

"All of the above sounds good to me," said Carl, getting up and hurrying to the kitchen.

Nita rose to help but Tom motioned her to stay seated. They waited in silence, though Nita didn't know what for. She found out soon enough when they heard the sound of pots and pans clang noisily as they fell to the floor. Tom and Nita both winced.

"I think I'll go give him a hand," Tom volunteered, "Nita, will you set the table?"

"Of course," she replied, still looking nervously at the source of the racket, where a good deal of cursing was going on.

"Don't worry," Tom smiled at her mildly, "I'll talk to him."

As Tom walked away Nita headed for the china cabinets, pulling out some napkins and table place-mats from the drawer. She really didn't mean to eavesdrop but she couldn't help but catch some of the furiously whispered phrases.

"I know you hate this," drifted Tom's voice, "But you have to keep going."

Carl said something she couldn't hear.

"I'm so sorry Carl…"

Another few words passed between them.

"And whose fault is that Tom?"

"Mine, but I have no regrets. You know very well why I did it now."

"Yeah, but what will Nita think?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Are you sure you're flipping that bacon right? Shouldn't you have waited longer?"

"Tom, I know what I'm doing!"

Nita sighed, hopelessly lost.

About ten minutes later, a cheerful Tom came out with a platter of scrambled eggs and crisp bacon, followed by Carl with a bowl of a mixed fruits which looked to Nita to have every type of fruit imaginable.

"Wow," Nita said, impressed in spite of herself, her mouth watering. "Where did all this come from?"

"Carl went over to meet with the West Coast Advisories a few days ago and came back with a fruit basket as a parting gift."

"Yeah, but how can all this fruit be in season?"

"It's not, but Wizards…"

"Can make things happen." Carl finished. "Shall we?"

A little while later, everyone was full and ready to hear the story anew.

Carl began…

_Past—_Carl's POV

Carl was gone, so wrapped up in the visions he could no longer hear Peach. No matter, as long as the revelations kept coming—and as long as these eventually led to Tom—his Tom—he didn't care.

_October 5__th__, 1978_—Carl's POV

Carl has a badly wrapped hand injury he's trying to hide beneath the many folds of a worn trench coat. His other hand, the left, is a white-knuckled grip around the bus holding pole. His lips are a tight line of pain. Anyone who looks at him could clearly see he's suffering. But of course, nobody looked in this city.

Suddenly there's screeching and a frontal force of pull. Carl almost loses his balance as the bus skids to a halt. As the bus turns to leave, he realizes this is his stop. He's dizzy and practically falling over himself, but he takes it.

It's just a block away to the hospital from here.

He makes it somehow, struggling up the few stairs to the clinic, and is almost unable to get the heavy door open with his remaining hand.

Carl staggers through the entrance and falls to one knee on the cracked marble floor. As he accidentally reaches out with his bad hand to catch himself, he collapses.

Nobody looks up.

Then a young man in a white coat hurriedly crosses the room. He gives a tight squeeze to both of Carl's shoulders and hoists him onto his feet in a fluid motion.

Carl sags against this Good Samaritan, hoping the other can take his bulk.

As the steadying hands move to grip his waist, Carl tilts his head back to get a good look at his savior—

It's Tom and that infuriating grin of his.

"Fancy finding you here stranger," Tom says.

Carl groans and lets himself be led into an empty hallway and made to sit on a bench, half-wondering how Tom manages to hold most of his weight. Tom is as tall as Carl, but nowhere near as strong.

"Whaddya mean 'stranger'?" A slightly buzzed Carl asks.

Tom, who has knelt carefully before Carl, is working to gently pull away the makeshift bandage. He looks up in shock, as if this is the first time in minutes that Carl has said anything—which it probably is—and then laughs.

"Well, at least you haven't lost your sparkling sense of humor," Tom says, trying to look stern or annoyed at him. However the 'Tommy smile,' Carl now dubbed, ruins the effect.

"If you had I'd be worried. What happened to you anyway? How'd you get it sliced open so deep? Lean back." Tom slowly helps to lower Carl to lie on the bench. Once he is certain that Carl won't try to get away, Tom clambers up into the seat next to him. The gaze he directs at Carl a curious one and nonjudgmental.

"Well, there was a fight..."

Tom's eyebrows rose as he gave Carl a 'no duh' sort of look.

"...and there were knives involved. I grabbed the knife to save my life."

Mike, in a drug-induced haze, had actually come at him several times before Carl had managed to wrestle the knife away.

At least there weren't any guns involved this time.

Tom shakes his head mock-scornfully. "You don't say. Well, I knew you were a trouble maker at once—spotted it right off the start. I know your kind and there'll be no more sharp objects for you mister. Not for a while at least. Wonder when the other guy's going to stumble in here—should I alert the ER?"

From somewhere Carl can't see, Tom pulls out a clipboard and pen. Within the last minute he's also donned a pair of thick lens glasses that make him look older than he is but, in Carl's opinion, don't suit him at all.

"Well," Tom continues "you've stopped bleeding enough by now that you'll last a few minutes for me to sign you in and then I'll find someone to stitch you right back up."

Carl must have looked at him quizzically because Tom laughs again.

"What? You didn't think I'd do the sewing, did you? In my first year of pre-med? I currently can't even sew a sweater together, much less human flesh..." Tom chuckled. "They don't trust me with the anything pointier than a pen around here yet I'm afraid. Not that they should, mind you, as I have no clue what I'm doing here or why I'm in this program in the first place. I mean, I fainted—actually _fainted_—every time at the sight of blood the first few weeks I was here. I gotta get out of here soon before I kill someone."

Carl shifts uneasily.

Tom snorts. "Oh, not you!

"Don't worry," he says, patting Carl's arm comfortingly, "They've still got eight years to see sense and kick me out before I get that chance. Right now I've just got this part time job in admissions. Strictly paperwork. And I wouldn't have gotten that much if my father and the university didn't have some standing. It helps that I'm a volunteer who 'needs the experience' and they don't have to pay me. Not a job then really, is it? Which reminds me, what is your name and when were you born? I'm going to need last names this time Carl..."

Carl blinks at the rapid change of topic.

"Um… Carl J. Romeo. September 29th, 1955."

Tom writes it all down, chewing his bottom lip slightly while the pen scratches the paper's surface.

"Romeo huh? Nothing embarrassing about that, I'm not sure why you wouldn't tell me before—and Carl J—I guess that explains 'CJ' then. No worries, I'm not exactly fond of my middle name either—Bernard, can you believe it? Named for my grandfather—something I'll never thank him for, or my mother for that matter, since I'm pretty sure she had some kind of say in it. And we met on your birthday? Wow! What a coincidence. Okay, city of birth and current address?"

"Look, Tom, I—I don't have any medical insurance—or much money…"

"Spent it all in one place then, did you?"

Carl, cheeks burning, digs around in his pockets, finally pulling out the expensive trinket Tom referred to. "That's—that's kind of what the fight was about. See, Mike had seen me 'steal' it and he wanted to pawn it off—to eat, you know? Or maybe for drugs, probably for drugs..."

Carl sees Tom grimace and hurries on, "Not for me, mind you, for him. It's too expensive a habit to get into when you can't even feed your family. But some dealers had offered him some for free; you know how they do that to get you hooked, right? And he'd taken it—and apparently liked it—and wanted more and..."

He offers it back to Tom.

Tom takes the watch sadly. "I'm so sorry Carl. I had no idea it would cause you so much trouble—I honestly thought you'd just sell it." He hands it back.

"Wait, you mean I can have it?"

"Of course you can have it, I gave it to you didn't I? It's real too, 18 carat gold at the least, with a few diamonds set on the dial, see there? My father's going to be _very_ angry that I 'lost it.' He got it for me when I got into MIT and Columbia. I can't wait to see the look on his face when I tell him—it'll be almost as good as the one he gave me when I chose NYU over Harvard. Now that was classic!" Tom's look is feral. He shakes it off and glances at Carl.

"Look, you can do what you want with it. Toss it into the Hudson if you like. But it's yours."

"Thank you," Carl whispers, subdued. "I don't deserve it."

Tom shrugs. "Who does? Call it my good deed of the month."

Tom leans forward on both his knees, seeming to take great interest in scanning the hallways...

Carl gapes openly at Tom, then closes his mouth and grits his teeth. Anger rises in him, overwhelming him and making him forget any previous kindness from Tom, and he snaps. "So that's what this is—what I am—your charity case? I am one of that 'kind'? Well forget it! I don't want any good deeds."

Carl's struggles to rise, fed up with Tom.

Tom stops his search and looks back at him, visibly stunned. "That's not it at all," he says quietly, passive. He's embarrassed, Carl realizes. "When you first came in I thought—I'm so sorry for what I thought then—but you're not just some 'charity case.' Honest you're not—not to me, anyway."

And for some inexplicable reason, the apology is enough. The anger isn't there. One moment it is and the next it may as well have never existed. His emotions have never been this mercurial before but… Carl believes him.

Suddenly Carl clenches in on himself. Without his negative emotions as a distraction the physical pain of his body doubles him over. "Ugh, my stomach!"

"It's your hand, look we've got to elevate your feet, put them on the bench's rail for now and...Maria!"

A handsome looking Puerto Rican woman rounds the corner and looks up from her charts.

"Yes Thomas?" She says, her words heavily accented but clear.

Tom makes a face, forgetting himself, "You know I hate that name."

She smiles at him before turning to study Carl, glancing from his pale drawn face, down to his hand, and back again.

Carl gulps. Blushing, he introduces himself, "Carl Romeo, senorita."

Her smile widens, "My name is Maria Chavez. Nice to meet you Carl. Where are you from?"

"I live here, in Brooklyn."

Tom clears his throat, feeling out of the loop.

"So how'd this happen, Carl?"

For the first time since his arrival, Carl averts his eyes in shame. "I fell," he mumbles lamely.

He hears a sigh hover somewhere above him and then Tom drops a soothing hand on Carl's shoulder.

"I see," she says, voice neutral.

"Please, Maria," Carl can't see his face, but Tom's tone is pleading, and Maria visibly softens at it. Carl doesn't blame her. "Really, he's just terrible at making turkey sandwiches! If I promise to keep him away from the kitchen from now on, will you fix him?"

She stays serious a moment longer, then laughs, "Oh Thomas! So he's a friend of yours, yes?"

"Yeah—wait, you mean that as in 'I can't believe you finally made one,' don't you?"

Maria smiles, pleased. "Well, boys will be boys and all that I guess... how about I just fix you up Carl and it'll be our little secret? You'd like that?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you." Carl mutters in appreciation, silently in awe of Tom.

"Yes, thank you ma'am." Tom echoes him teasingly.

"Oh, enough of that you," Maria ruffles Tom's mousey hair fondly, "You're hard to resist when you want to be, you know that? I bet you do. All right, I'll go get some supplies—and they'll have to just mysteriously vanish from the hospital inventory."

As soon as she's gone from sight, Tom smiles at Carl triumphantly, tearing off and crumbling the page he'd been filling out on his clipboard.

"See, Carl? I told you there'd be nothing to worry about. I'll take good care of you. I can talk my way into or out of anything, can't you tell?"

"Thanks Tommy." And Carl messes Tom's brown hair with his good hand as Maria had done.

Tom sticks out his tongue, "Tommy again, huh? Maybe I'll just have to start calling you 'Carly'—or something like that." Maria returns with needle and sutures in hand.

Briskly, she wraps her tools in a sanitized cloth and sets them down on the wooden bench. She then adopts her best take-charge attitude. "You'll just need to eat foods high in iron when you get home, drink lots of water, and rest for a few days. And don't move for at least half an hour after I finish this. Tom, I need you to push down on the pressure point for the brachial artery—"

"That's here, right?" Carl watches him reach up and with practiced purpose firmly pinch the inside of Carl's right arm between elbow and armpit.

Carl hisses in pain.

"Sorry," Tom glances at him apologetically but is careful not to let up.

"Yes, good, now hold that while I clean..."

Awhile later Tom runs to catch up with Carl who is leaving the hospital.

"Carl, wait!" Tom says.

Carl turns towards him, still baffled yet intrigued by this boy he keeps encountering.

"How is it," Carl asks seriously, "that we keep running into each other like this?"

Tom shrugs, "Maybe it's fate."

Carl doesn't believe in such a thing.

Tom smiles, as if he can tell what Carl's thinking. "Or maybe you're stalking me, I'm not sure which."

"I'm stalking you?" Carl asks incredulously. "I think it's the other way around."

"Hey, who walked into my hospital?"

"It was the closest!"

Tom laughs.

"What's so funny?"

Tom smiles at him, "If we don't want to leave our meetings to fate anymore, let's get together ourselves. I'm free at noon…"

_Past—_Carl's POV

Carl is still in a trance, completely unaware of his surroundings.

But neither Peach, nor the dogs, nor the koi wake him. They simply keep watch.

They know this is too important.


	6. Chapter 5: Law of Pragmatism

CHAPTER 5: LAW OF PRAGMATISM

"If it works, it is true."

_November 1__st__, 1978—_Carl's POV

It should've been snowing at this time of the year but New York was in the middle of a strange heat wave.

Tom crashes through the trees, textbooks slipping out of his arms, threatening to fall at every step.

He finally stumbles through to a clearing and immediately unburdens himself of the books on the soft grass next to Carl.

"Sorry I'm late," he gasps in explanation. "I had to stay after class to help clean and then I got this."

He holds up a brown paper bag patched with grease stains.

Carl doesn't say anything as Tom unloads the contents of that paper bag—two hamburgers, two sodas, two orders of fries—and afterwards doesn't say much else except, "Hope you have a healthy appetite."

He knows Tom will do the rest of the talking.

"Oh come on Carl!" Tom sighs, exasperated. "For the last time, you are not, nor will you ever be, a charity case to me. This is a meal between friends. Next time you can buy if you like." He sees Tom wince at how slight a chance this is and tries a new excuse, "Besides, I invited you to lunch. If you had invited me it'd be a different story."

Carl didn't mention that they did this daily. That this is the same old argument they'd been having for weeks. Someday, he would pay, he swore it—Tom just wouldn't allow him to buy him anything if it came from stealing—but for now…

He reaches for a burger. "Why do you prefer to be called Tom?"

"Excuse me?"

This is also a normal routine. Carl, driven in his quest to know more about the boy, asks a question and Tom answers it, rambling on for nearly the entire hour they have. He will talk so much that sometimes he forgets his food entirely and runs off before Carl can interject. Carl knows he does this on purpose and somewhere deep inside, he appreciates it.

At first they talked about family. And Tom, an only child, was fascinated by Carl's life of living with so many siblings and his having to take care of his younger brothers. A month went into how different their circumstances were—and that wasn't always easy.

For each meeting they met here. Tom has a lunch break from class and so does Carl, as Tom started "encouraging" him to attend school—which he does in only bits and pieces but it's a start. The rule is that they are only allowed to voice three questions each.

He repeats the question, "Why do you prefer to be called Tom, instead of Tommy or Thomas?"

Tom cringes. "Tommy and Thomas aren't me," he says at last.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Thomas is my father. My real 'title' is Thomas Bernard Swale, Jr., but that's only used on me when I get into serious trouble."

Carl wants to know what "trouble" means but maintains his silence.

"And Tommy was my nickname when I was a little kid. Back when my parents…"

He trails off then. But Carl and his silence manage to coax out the rest.

"…back when my parents loved me." Tom finishes quietly.

This triggers a debate on whether or not that statement is accurate. Carl says it isn't. That his parents have obviously given him so much—good clothes, great education, decent allowance, etc. His own parents have certainly never provided any of the above. Carl thought he was on a roll, until Tom dubiously interjects that his parents wouldn't let him apply to any college that wasn't on the east coast.

"No offense to New York or anything Carl, but back then I'd have rather gone to Stanford or Berkeley where my friends—er, friend—is. Not that I wanted to live with my parents mind you, but since my parents are never home nowadays—off on a 'Spiritual Awakening' of some sort—I'd rather live at home, in my own room, than with a roommate.

"And as for why Tom, it's because I chose it. Only one person had ever really called me that before… before I met you. And then it just seemed to stick."

"Who's that person?" Carl asks curiously.

A silence falls between the two.

Then Tom, who doesn't take too well to the quiet, looks down at his textbooks and frowns.

"I love reading and writing." He says, "That's a passion of mine. I just don't like reading this stuff or writing essays."

With a swoop of his hand he indicates the textbooks that lay listlessly on the ground. He picks up and looks at each with undisguised disgust, the labels including: Gray's Anatomy, Tractus Logico-Philosophicus, Gödel, Escher, Bach, etc.

"Well, what books do you actually like then?" Carl asks lying down.

"That's question two and you're going to think I'm a dork."

"I already think you're a dork."

"This is true," Tom admits and smiles, because there's no malice behind it; they've been friends long enough now for Tom not to be afraid of Carl's bodily strength or biting witticism.

"Well, truth be told, I love the classics. Anything fantasy and adventure: Robinson Crusoe, Ivanhoe, The Three Musketeers…"

"And A Wizard's Companion," Carl finishes for him, before Tom can go off on another tangent, listing all of his favorite books—which, from the sound of it, could take a while.

Tom freezes.

"I have an identical copy that I brought, wanna see?"

Tom nods slowly, dumbfounded, as the red leather book with a semi torn spine was placed before him. And there it was, written in bold letters across the front, A Wizard's Companion.

"Have… have you read any of it yet Carl?" Tom asks, resisting the urge to touch it.

Carl shrugs, his eyes averting and effectively evading Tom's, "Haven't had the time. But I was hoping… That… that maybe you'd…"

Carl trails off mid-sentence.

"That maybe I'd what Carl?" Tom asks patiently.

"That maybe you'd read it to me?" Carl says in such a rush that Tom would have missed it entirely had he not been anticipating the response.

"Why do you want me to read it to you Carl?" Tom questions softly, this is unsteady ground he treads on and he knows that. "Is it the same reason," Tom continues quietly, "why you don't do any of your homework? And throw away all your textbooks?"

Tom asks the question like he already knows the answer.

Anger spreads through Carl, like a match set to gun powder.

He explodes.

Carl is off his back and slamming Tom down against the ground hard in a heartbeat. Tom pinned helplessly beneath him, Carl has one hand held high in the air in a fist and the other he uses to grab Tom's shirt and pull their faces together.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Carl growls.

Very, very carefully, Tom gently places both his hands on the one Carl is practically choking him with and gives his wrist a squeeze.

Tom's words are straightforward and kind, "Only that you have trouble with reading."

"Oh yeah, and what if I do? You think I'm stupid or something?" But Carl's anger has turned inward.

_Like everyone else …_ he thinks, despondent.

Tom shakes his head as much as Carl's grip allows him to.

"No," he says, "Quite the opposite. I think you're brilliant."

Carl rolls off him in shock and physically recoiling from the words, not accepting them. Not _able_ to accept them.

"You'd have to be," Tom says, "To have that kind of a problem and deal with it as you have. I've seen this before."

Carl is bewildered. He has never heard those kinds of words directed at him before...

Tom, unaware of Carl's inner thoughts, goes on, "There's a word for it now, though it's not well-known. It's a whole new field of study actually. There's a bill or something trying to be passed in congress, it's a few years off from now. But in the meantime there's some teachers out there who are trying new techniques, some literature. People with your problem go on to become rocket scientists or brain surgeons or…"

Carl interjects, "Tom what is it?"

Tom looks confused for a minute, as if not realizing he hadn't named what needed naming: "Dyslexia." He says finally, "I read about it in an article in Reader's Digest. It just means words and/or numbers get scrambled when you try to read them. But there's ways to get around it." He reassures Carl quickly.

"So…what does that mean?"

"It means that I can teach you to read!"

Carl stares at him in disbelief as another wave of anger builds inside him and crashes.

"What makes you think I want to learn? What—what makes you think I have a problem, or a 'disorder'?" he sneers at the last word. He is used to being seen as stupid and lazy and no good. But before now he's never thought those accusations would come from Tom, and only moments after Tom proclaimed Carl's 'brilliance.'

Tom is silent. He's waiting.

Carl forces himself to go on. "So what if I didn't speak much when I was a little kid. Parents thought I was born dumb or something." He frowns. "Once I learned how to talk though," he reminisces, "I couldn't stop—at least, not until I realized no one was listening. My report cards always say something like 'doesn't live up to potential.' If I could have done something about it, if I could do better for my family, don't you think I'd have done it by now? What makes you think I have a chance? What makes _you_ any better?"

Tom's only reaction is to smile, infuriating Carl even more. There were times when he hated Tom—no, disliked. Hate is for enemies, for people who hurt you. But Tom had never hurt Carl. Disliked, then, for reasons Carl couldn't place—but the moments always passed, as he knew this one would. But this time he had a reason, an insult, and he was going to take advantage.

Carl was used to the negativity in his life, it was familiar, so he wanted to hold onto it a little longer. Even if it had already begun to melt away under Tom's grin. Like grasping sand with an open palm, it slipped through his fingers when he was around Tom. When Tom apologized again it'd be gone like it was never there.

"You think this is funny?"

Tom shakes his head 'no'. "No. I'm sorry, it's just… this is just the first time you've shared so much with me. And I'm happy about it. Please, tell me more? And then I'll talk to you about my book, I promise."

"Tom," Carl says uneasily. "Lunch break is over."

"Not today it isn't," Tom says firmly. "School doesn't matter, not if it's you."

Carl looks at him a touch fearfully. As far as he knows Tom has perfect attendance. To miss a class for him…

At least five minutes goes by after that, with the trees rustling in the wind, faint honking in the distance, and huge skyscrapers glittering silver above them.

Finally, Carl sees that Tom can't stand it. But he doesn't leave; he just takes out one of his textbooks and starts studying. That in itself isn't unusual—it was the lack of conversation between the two that was strange.

Ten minutes of absolute peace and quiet and Carl is nearly ready to go mad.

"What are you reading?" he blurts out unintentionally.

"I think you're over your quota for questions today, Carl." Tom says without looking up, turning a page. Inevitably, a slow smile spreads across his face. "But, if you're that curious…"

Carl scowls. "You set me up."

"Maybe, maybe not. What if you really do want to learn to read?"

Carl seems to consider this proposal.

"If you tell me what that book is about, I'll let you teach me how to read." Carl concludes.

He feels especially proud when Tom's face pales.


	7. Chapter 6: Law of Paradox

CHAPTER 6: LAW OF PARADOX

"Two people may experience the same event yet perceive entirely different occurrences."

_November 14__th__, 1978—_Carl's POV

Carl doesn't belong here in this nice prestigious NYU dorm complex. He's trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but he's still getting looks from passersby.

He casually walks up the stairs of the stoop and opens the door.

Then it's three flights of stairs and several turns made before he stops in front of his destination: apartment 329.

Carl hesitates. But before he can make any move one way or another, noises come from within, and he barely steps out of the way in time for the door to swing open and an NYU student to come storming out. The student takes two steps towards the stairway before seeing Carl behind him. He spins around.

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?" he demands of Carl.

Carl crosses his arms defensively.

"I could ask the same thing of you, pal."

The other—not much older than Carl himself—looks briefly affronted, then angry. "I live here, what's your excuse?"

"I came to see Tom. He lives here too, am I right?"

The other looks him up and down in judgment.

"Yeah, figures Tom would have friends like you," he sneers.

Carl cracks his knuckles menacingly. But before he can respond…

"Carl?" his name rings weakly through the air. From somewhere inside the dorm room, someone coughs.

Carl hesitantly pokes his head through the doorway.

He hardly hears the roommate storm off.

The place is a disaster. There are tissues strewn everywhere and takeout boxes on and off the tabletop. And as for Tom—Tom is lying on a couch in the middle of it all, looking particularly miserable.

Tom coughs again, "Hey Carl, what kind of trouble are you getting me into this time?" He motions to the door where Carl is still standing outside.

"Your roommate's a jerk," Carl says without preamble and before he could stop himself.

"Tell me something I don't know." Tom says, then blows into a tissue.

Carl steps inside, looking at the mess. "He's mad at you for this?"

Tom nods.

Carl steams inwardly at Tom's roommate briefly, before he bends over and starts picking up tissues and junk food containers.

"Carl," Tom calls down, protesting. "What are you doing?"

Carl stops and looks up.

What _is_ he doing?

He shrugs uncomfortably but keeps going, finding a plastic bag, and clearing away the remaining stuff off the coffee table with a sweep of his hand.

Tom struggles to sit up, but Carl places a restricting hand on his shoulder. He slouches back onto the couch.

"Thank you," Tom says quietly.

Carl thinks of all the pizza and Chinese takeout he has just cleaned up.

"Is that all you've been eating?" he asks, indicating the old bits of food and plastic utensils in the plastic bag.

"Yeah, but it's too hard on my stomach. I can't eat it."

"Where's your wallet?"

"Carl, this is hardly the time to pick my pockets…" Tom jokes.

"I'll get you some soup from down the road." Carl replies defensively.

"Really?" Tom says, wide-eyed. "Thank you!" From somewhere beneath the couch's pillows he produces his wallet.

"Here you go then," Tom throws Carl the wallet without reserve. "I have to hide it. My roommate tends to take a few dollars for himself."

"But you trust me?"

"Of course. Are you going to be okay getting back in?" Tom asks nervously.

"Yeah," Carl reassures him.

Carl gets up to the door before he hears Tom call out hoarsely: "And get something for yourself too!"

An hour later Carl does manage to get the soup, something for himself, and a few other groceries. He also somehow manages to sneak back into the complex undetected.

When he returns Tom is sitting up slightly on raised pillows in anticipation; he's also changed into new pajamas.

Carl tosses him back his wallet and sits on the coffee table. He then hands Tom his chicken noodle soup and warns that it's hot.

Tom re-hides the wallet without even checking how much Carl spent. Then he blows on his soup a bit.

Carl munches on a bit of cheese himself.

Silence reigns for a long moment of chewing and sipping.

"I'm ready to tell you, Carl."

Carl looks up while taking a bite from an apple, juice dribbling down his chin. He wipes it away. "Tell me what?"

"I want to tell you everything about A Wizard's Companion."

Carl blinks and hesitates. It's finally happening and this is what he wanted...

Right?

He's been nagging Tom about this for weeks but now that the time has come he's not so sure he wants to know—or knows what he wants for that matter.

Something inside him is desperately afraid.

Yet something else is just as excited.

He's not sure about the 'why' for either.

Tom isn't watching Carl as he raises his hand to eye level, palm up, and mutters something under his breath, too low for Carl to make out the words. Out of thin air, his book suddenly appears hovering a foot above his outstretched hand, then drops. Tom catches it easily.

Carl jumps a good three feet back, which is a feat considering he had been sitting at the time. He knocks over the table and bits of food fly about everywhere.

Tom doesn't seem too concerned about it though. His face down in the book, he mumbles a few more choice words and the coffee table flips itself back over, the food settling into place. Even the soup is back inside the bowl.

Carl backs into the nearest wall.

"Carl, easy," Tom's face is a study in concern when he glances up.

"Wha…what just happened?!"

"Wizardry, Carl."

The answer is simple and straightforward.

Carl shakes his head in denial. "Impossible! It doesn't exist!"

_Magic doesn't exist!_

"Carl come over here, you look like you're about to faint." Tom sits up and pats the space at the end of the couch in invitation.

"There's no such thing," Carl whispers, trying to wake up from whatever dream he must be having and keeping his distance at the same time.

"But there is Carl." Tom says patiently. "I'm a Wizard."

_Wizardry…_

_Tom's a Wizard…_

And somehow it made sense. It all made sense.

Carl still refuses to believe it though

"No! You're tricking me…"

And again Carl feels the irrational anger towards Tom that's always there just beneath the surface. The one he can't explain, but intensifies every time Tom does something that Carl sees as a betrayal.

It doesn't happen as often as Carl would like… and _where_ did that thought come from?

Carl doesn't _want_ to be angry around Tom and he's been trying to control himself since the day they met. He likes Tom, he really does. Tom treats him in a way no one else has in a long time, hell maybe ever: with respect, possibly even admiration.

But then something like this happens and he wants to boil over and lash out and he doesn't understand why because despite his hot Italian blood he is level-headed and Tom doesn't deserve to be injured over just a lie, granted a rather _large_ lie…

"Why would I do that?" Tom inquires softly, sounding upset and there it is. Carl's already hurt him inadvertently.

Carl bolts for the door, but finds it somehow locked beneath his hands—no matter how many times he unlocks it. The act of trying is useless but he finds shaking and banging on the door a good way to burn off his negative energy.

"Carl, calm down! Please?" Tom sounds panicked.

Finally, defeated and deflated, Carl stumbles over to the couch and plops down where Tom indicates.

Tom reaches out for him but stops at Carl's flinch.

Immediately, Carl wants to apologize—for flinching, for being mad, for wanting to walk away, for not walking away sooner—but Tom, who is either reading his mind or being very perceptive, beats him to it.

"I'm sorry, Carl. I shouldn't have startled you like that. If you don't believe me, why don't you try a bit of Wizardry on your own? Like, let's say, call your Manual."

Despite his current state—or maybe because of it—Carl gives Tom a bit of a hysterical look.

"Call it huh? Just reach my arms out and yell 'Hocus Pocus'? Or is it more like a dog, where you clap your hands and say "Here Manual. Manual come!"

At the end of his mocking, he can't figure out the look on Tom's face.

"Carl," Tom says and points directly in front of him...

Floating—_floating?!_—in midair is his Manual.

_My Manual?_

"Don't waste energy, Carl. Take it." Tom chides.

_Easy for you to say,_ Carl thinks but, acting on autopilot, does as he's told.

A moment stretches between them, in which Carl traces the outline on his book's—_Tom calls it a Manual_—binding and thinks of everything it could mean to be a Wizard.

"I had a hard time when I was first introduced into Wizardry too."

Carl scowls, eying him suspiciously. "Are you reading my mind?"

Tom looks affronted. "Not without your permission I'm not! I just remember the old days and…" he trails off, frowning at someplace in the distance for some time, trying to decide what to say, how to say it, and just how much to disclose.

Finally, Tom sighs.

"Look, Carl, you and I are different somehow."

"Different? You've got to be kidding me!" Carl's voice drips with sarcasm.

"We're not supposed to have Manuals for one thing, I don't think," Tom spoke calmly, as though the topic was the weather and not life-changing in the least, "and we're not supposed to know Wizardry exists for the other, as far as I can figure out. We're not _supposed_ to be Wizards."

"Why not?" Carl asks, somewhat curious albeit still terrified.

"Wizardry is all about the younger generations, and we're far too old for one thing. Most Wizards come of age around twelve to fourteen. And we—well _I_—haven't had my Ordeal yet and it's been a year since I took the Oath."

He looks at Carl this time, "And then there's the fact that you…" Tom coughs and appears embarrassed to say the rest.

"That I what, Tom?" Carl asks impatiently. "Just say it, you know I hate runarounds."

Tom glances down at his lap. "…we have problems. You and your dyslexia, me and my non-Ordeal..."

Tom clears his throat, and then frowns.

He's looking at Carl's Manual, the page that had opened with the Oath, except…

"I can't read this." His frown deepens as he pulls the book to him. "The letters and words are all jumbled."

Carl glances down, his eyes widening in awe as he scoots closer to Tom to get a better look.

"I can read this, plain as day! But how...?"

He flips back a few pages, through what looks like the requirements from the little bit he scans, and it _is_ like magic. At first the page is just a page, but then when his eyes land on a word he can't make out, the word rearranges itself into something he can read. The print is larger, the spaces between words extended and…

"I can read this Tom!" Carl exclaims, excited beyond himself. All other thoughts and emotions gone, like they'd never been there.

"Now all you have to do," Tom tells him carefully, "is decide."

Tom acts as if he's known this would happen all along,

"Decide on what?" Carl asks, still enthused, casting Tom's strange behavior to the side for the moment.

"Whether or not to become a Wizard Carl…"


	8. Chapter 7: Law of Unity

CHAPTER 7: LAW OF UNITY

"Everything is linked, either directly or indirectly, to everything else."

_December 24__th__, Christmas Eve, 1978__—_Carl's POV

_"Sometimes entropy wins out, that's your excuse Tom?! You're a Wizard, Tom, I've seen you prove it—isn't it your responsibility to protect Life? Save him!"_

_ "B-but Carl! Come on, come away with me. There's nothing either of us can do now and the police will think…"_

_ "Is that what you're scared of? Getting caught? Then you better start running Tom!" _

_ "I'm not leaving you Carl! I'm not leaving you…"_

_"Anthony, my brother... he was only eight years old Tom! Why'd it have to be him?! Why can't you bring him back?"_

_ "Carl! The gun's here! It's a set up! Please, just come with me and I promise I'll make everything okay again…"_

_"He's dead Tom—dead!"_

_ "I know, Carl, I know but please leave him here! I don't think your family could bear it if they lost another child... Come with me Carl, and I promise that somehow... Somehow I'll make it right..."_

_December 25__th__, Christmas Day, 1978__—Carl's POV_

Click.

"…_love waits there in San Francisco, above the blue and windy sea. When I come home to you, San Francisco, your golden sun will shine for me…"_

Carl awakes to the city that never sleeps.

"…and that was Frank Sinatra's oldie but goodie 'I Left My Heart In San Francisco,' which, of course, as every New Yorker realizes, is completely false. Next is…"

He yawns and wakes to sunlight streaming in through white shuttered windows. There are finely painted blue walls and a picture of the Madonna and Child hanging watchfully over him. There are satin sheets and a quilt knitted with the utmost love and care.

Carl blinks against reclaiming sleep when he hears the sound of his father's booming laughter from downstairs.

His father had walked out on their family two months ago.

He starts when he feels the other side of the bed shift and a hand—a woman's hand—comes to rest on his bare chest. Shocked, he looks over and sees an old childhood friend smiling at him, whispering something that looked suspiciously like 'I love you.'

This childhood friend had become a prostitute and died early on in life.

It's then he realizes something is terribly, terribly wrong.

_How am I alive? _is his first thought.

"CJ! CJ! CJ!" There came a clamor of squealing from behind a then closed—now flung wide open—bedroom door. Before he can blink, there are three heavy weights on a bed meant for only two that now holds five.

His three younger brothers, bright and carefree, were squirming to get under the covers with him: Raymond, Edmond, and Anthony.

_Anthony?!_

Carl swallows hard.

He had fallen asleep at Tom's place in San Francisco, California. Tom, who was desperately trying to stop the bleeding from Carl's bullet wounds with every spell in the Manual...

But he had failed. Carl was sure of it.

He should be dead.

So why is he still alive?

Only, this isn't his life…

For one, his family has never owned a house half as nice as this one. The photographs facing him from all corners of the room have always before been in stuffy, falling apart apartments, only used to cover holes and peeling paint—_not _in pristine frames set upon polished oak furniture.

He grabs a picture from the nearest nightstand and squints at it in shock.

He and his family have _never _vacationed in Hawaii either!

Except, yes they had! Last summer when Carl was accepted into NYU…

No, no wait, he's struggling in his sophomore year of high school, being held back because he can't read…

He can damn well read! He's never had a problem with it… has he?

His father's uproarious laughter catches his attention again.

His father _never_ laughs.

"CJ! _Come_ _oooooooooon_!" Edmond whines.

"We can't open presents until you get up!" Raymond chimes in.

"Presents?" Carl whispers dumbfounded.

"Well, duh! It _is_ Christmas." Anthony looks at him like he'd lost it, which maybe he has.

Real presents at Christmastime, this was new too.

It's Anthony he looks at the hardest. Anthony is the Romeo family's second youngest.

Anthony had died yesterday.

"We can't come down if we don't get dressed. And if we don't come down, you won't get to open your presents..." Cecilia intones reasonably from where she stands next to the bed, sending a flurry of children racing back down the stairs followed by a slamming door.

He looks at her, she's still smiling, and he realizes she's only clothed in sheets.

Carl's eyebrows rise at that, especially once he realizes that he, too, is in a less than decent state himself.

The whole situation is just _wrong_!

He remembers clearly now. The night before…

Anthony had been shot. Carl killed a man. Tom had taken him away.

_Everything's going to be all right now Carl, _Tom had said.

Carl hadn't believed him then.

_Tom, what'd you do? _ He thinks now desperately.

It's rather difficult to explain the terrifying experience of being in a place you've never been before, yet remember having grown up there your entire life. The indescribable sensation of having memory upon memory bombard you was... impossible to describe.

Carl is no longer Carl.

Instead the two have merged into one—an eighteen year old Carl now opening presents with his family on Christmas Day, right out of a Norman Rockwell illustration.

These memories vied against different memories of his childhood. They were the complete opposite of what had happened to Carl growing up and none involved Tom.

He can't ever remember Tom being here, in this reality…

No one should have to live two lives.

"Carl?" Little Anthony questions him, looking at him curiously.

Carl snaps out of it, realizing he's been staring at his little brother for quite some time now and making him uncomfortable.

"Sorry Anthy, I'm just tired. In fact, if nobody objects, I'd like to go lie down …"

"Sure son, you feeling okay?" Carl's father asks at the same time his mother chimes in with, "You're not coming down with anything are you?"

"Oh no, just didn't get enough rest last night."

"I wonder why…" His older brother Jonas says suggestively, looking at Cecilia.

A few 'whoops' and snickers spread across the room from Jonas, his Uncle Tony, and his father as his mother hushes the family half-heartedly. The kids just look confused.

Carl groans.

"Enough of that you!" Cecilia chastises the older members of the family. "Go on honey, we'll still be here when you wake up."

Carl suppresses a moan.

"An hour at most, I promise," he says as he waves amiably to his 'family' while climbing the stairs.

He stops as he passes by a full body-length mirror.

Dark hair, high cheekbones, and clear gray eyes stare back at him.

There's no more pretending this isn't him.

As soon as he hits the mattress he lets out that moan.

_Tom, _Carl thinks again in desperation, _what have you done?_

Turning to lie on his back, he tries to take inventory of the situation.

He still has four brothers: Jonas, Raymond, Anthony, and Edmond.

He still has his father Pasqual Romeo, mother Luigia Romeo, Grandmother Saveria Mariana, and his uncle, Tony Romeo.

In this setting they are a nice Italian Catholic family.

It's almost _too_ perfect.

Carl swallows hard when he thinks of the engagement ring he'd seen on Cecilia's hand and the state of dress he'd been in this morning.

The sounds of Christmas with his family wafts up through the floorboards.

He cringes.

Carl doesn't know where to go from here.

He has his little brother back, just like Tom had promised, but he also has a sinking feeling inside.

What does it take to foil death?

What is the price?

_Tom, please don't let it be that you killed yourself…_

The thought angers Carl like no other. And he knows anger is a stage of mourning.

He hasn't mourned Tom, he hasn't felt the need to, until now.

Carl wakes with a jolt and a thought:

_Tom…why'd you leave me?_

The dream had been a memory of a reality, _his_ reality, once upon a time—before he came to this seemingly perfect world. Was Tom really gone here? Or did he still exist somewhere, as clueless about Carl as Carl should be about him?

Carl has to find out, he decides.

He'll use his contacts at NYU to see if Tom's attending school there. And if that doesn't work...

Slowly he stretches and gets out of bed, trying to figure out an excuse for wanting to go to San Francisco so urgently.

As he walks down the stairs he can see that all the presents have been opened and the floor is a messy array of wrapping paper and bows.

"CJ!" Anthony looks up from where he has been playing with his new rocking horse and authentic cowboy hat. He seems to hesitate between staying on the horse and getting down to see his big brother.

"CJ! You forgot to open your present!" Anthony says, as though it's unheard of.

"It's from all of us, dear." Carl's mother enters the room, carrying a cup of hot cocoa which she hands to Carl. Carl drinks gratefully, there's nothing like her homemade hot chocolate. He searches for a place to sit down and lands on a soft sofa as the rest of his family clambers in.

He expects a box with extravagant wrappings, like the rest that littered the room. Instead what he gets is a card.

_'To Carl'_ it reads on the front.

Carefully, he stuffs his thumb underneath the envelope's flap and breaks it open.

It's a Hallmark card. It's covered prettily in reds and greens and has a large family very much like his gathering around a Christmas Feast.

The poem written inside went: _Though throughout the year we may be apart, we are always together in our hearts—especially at Christmastime! _

And it's signed simply: _We hope you have fun with these! We love you Carl! ~your family _

Upturning the envelope, a pair of tickets fall out—plane tickets actually to… Carl squints…

San Francisco!

"Impossible," Carl breathes. "How…how did you know?"

"Why, it's all you've been talking about for months now Carl! How could we _not_ know?" His father laughs.

"I think it's a wonderful place to vacation—and to pick out a wedding dress to bring home!"

"Ma!" Cecelia intones.

"It's just a suggestion, dear. Are you sure you're feeling alright Carl? You look rather pale…"

And his throat's dry too as Carl tries to swallow the lump that has formed there.

He's supposed to get married?!

Carl shakes it off. What's important is that here's his chance.

"Thank you ma, everyone," he gives her a hug.

Soon after that it's time for Christmas dinner. Carl is surprised at how easily he's able to fit in, without anyone noticing he's different. His memories of this lifetime are pristine. How that's possible he doesn't know.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of wedding talk over coffee and a roaring fireplace, he bid everyone good night.

He found falling asleep was not easy with a girl hanging on to him so tight.

Tom's arms were stronger.

The thought angers Carl for some reason. Tom had always held Carl too close, too tight, never giving him room to breathe. Carl tries to preserve that anger. To forget that he never wanted that room, never asked for it, and that even if his actions never reflected it the fact is he kept Tom just as close

Tom, who had held him as he died, tried to push his Life force into Carl. He'd been begging Carl to stay...

He'd been selfish and Carl hated him for it.

But Carl couldn't think about that now, not without upsetting Cecelia.

Cecelia. His anger ebbs as he wonders where she had come from. In this life she's a childhood friend. In the other life she was…

She had been a childhood friend, up to the point where her parents died and she was kicked to the streets with no welfare. She'd run away from her foster home, became a prostitute, and died early on. That's what happened.

Carl shivers. It seems Tom saved not only Anthony that night.

Somehow, Tom had changed the world...

It isn't enough.

He has to find Tom.

If he had A Wizard's Companion right now, he'd have the conviction to become a Wizard and save Tom.

And with that last yearning thought, Carl slept.

The airport is, as always, crowded. Normally Carl's one of a few who doesn't mind the traffic, the long lines, the security check, and the boarding process. He has patience to spare.

Today he's yelling like hell with the rest of them.

"Come on! Move it!"

Cecelia takes his hand and pats it gently. "We'll get there when we get there," she says.

"The sooner, the better!" Carl shouts at her unpleasantly.

"Why are we going in the first place?" she shouts back.

Carl hates to break her heart.

"We're going to find a friend."

"What kind of 'friend?'" She's talking low now but Carl hears every word.

"A boy who's a friend," he reassures her like the coward he is, not brave enough to break the marriage off there and then.

"Oh," Cecelia whispers. "That's something else then."

They're finally allowed to board and Carl waits anxiously for takeoff. He won't be satisfied when he reaches San Francisco. He won't rest until he finds Tom's old house.

Hoping to God there's a Tom in it.

"My God," Cecilia whispers in awe, looking at the scene before them. "You never said your friend was rich—or that he lived in a Victorian house! Much less a 'Painted Lady'!"

"A what?"

Cecelia digs the book she'd been reading on the airplane out of her purse and shows it to him. _Painted Ladies - San Francisco's Resplendent Victorians. _

"They're houses that are colorful—and usually have more than just one color on them—blues, yellows, reds, oranges... They're done in the Victorian style, two stories, which is why they're called…"

"I don't care what they're called! I just know Tom lived—_lives_—here! Somewhere between 712–720 Steiner St."

"That's a lot of houses to canvas Carl; can't you just call him and ask him which one?"

"No!" Carl grounds out in frustration, "I can't."

Cecelia stares at him.

He softens his tone for her. "I don't even know if he's here right now, we're sort of a surprise." He explains. "I just know we're supposed to ask for his father, Thomas Bernard Swale, Sr. And it's not that many houses…"


	9. Chapter 8: Law of Reflection

CHAPTER 8: LAW OF REFLECTION

"The universe is within us and without us."

_Past—_Carl's POV

There's a reason he's here.

San Francisco had been a dismal failure. Oh he'd found Tom's father all right. Only to upset him and his wife terribly with his interrogations. They'd never had a son. They couldn't conceive. How dare he come here demanding such questions be answered?

Carl and Cecelia took the next flight home.

Now he's desperate.

He's standing in the deepest part of the forest in Central Park at midnight, with a flashlight, matches, four candles, an athame, a pentacle, a chalice, a wand, and a snow cleared circle 9 feet in diameter. The four candles represented the four directions and the four elements. The altar of makeshift wood he placed at north.

Carl's last resort for finding Tom was to defer to what Tom called "witchcraft." Tom, who had held an interest in these kinds of things, had loved the looks of the rituals and the ways of the self-proclaimed witches.

Carl didn't know if it would work. But, like everything else he'd lost from his former Life, he'd lost his Manual too. So this was his only option.

He'd done his research, and the chances of this working were slim, but Carl hoped that since he had been a Wizard previously, sort of—did the universe still know that?—he might get lucky.

He lights the candles, then places the tools on the altar.

He takes the athame and starts to draw a barrier for protection in the earth, murmuring, _"I conjure this Circle to serve as a guardian against The Lone One who would do me harm…"_

Even though he obviously wasn't Tom in his elegance with words, he went on to list the properties that he will require from the Circle.

In the midst of the incantations, he changes from athame to the chalice and walks the Circle's edges.

_"Lord of the Eastern Spirits…"_

He picks up the wand and walks around the Circle again.

_"Lord of the Southern Lights…"_

He takes up the north candle and places it on the altar.

_"Lord of the Western Spirits…"_

Finally he takes up the other candles and one by one places them on the altar.

_"Lord of the Northern Lights…"_

Saying the last incantation, he picks up his athame and draws a pentacle on the ground.

_"Witness my Rites… I am the Servant of the One!"_

The Circle is complete and ready for his purpose: Summoning.

He'd done everything right...

He was sure of it!

He'd stated his parameters, given his request…

But apparently, No One was listening.

Nothing happened, except it started to rain.

In desperation and in tears Carl falls to his knees, _livid_.

"TOM!" he screams at the dark clouds in the sky, "What am I supposed to do now?"

Silence answers him.

Carl clenches his fists then releases them with an uneven breath. He leaves his circle and his things and trudges away from his ritual in a daze.

About halfway through his trek a light flashes from the sky to the earth.

And in the middle of Central Park, Manhattan, Carl Romeo collapses.

Carl doesn't know what it was that brought him back to Life.

And through the pain, he isn't sure what he wants to do…

_Could I find Tom in death?_ The thought whispers across his empty mind.

He barely registers the fact that a bird had landed atop him.

_Pretty colors,_ is his last thought as everything else faded away.

Carl huddles as much as he can in the gurney in the furthest corner of the room.

Tubes are attached to painfully singed skin and, when he gingerly tries to move his fingers, he finds it excruciating.

And from the state of his arms that he can see, he can only imagine how hideous the rest of his body looks.

The room is white-washed, with just enough dashes of color—pink wardrobes and blue blankets—to keep it from being anything straight out of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. The only door leading in is a big, thick slate of solid wood that spanned the length of nearly half the room, with metal coating on the bottom and a metal handle that locked only one way—from the outside.

Swallowing, he forces his gaze down to his shaking knees. Carl can't stop trembling even if he wants to. The stress of the day is finally over, yet keeps repeating itself over and over cruelly inside of his mind.

Carl can only remember sensations, nothing else. He knows though that, back then, he thought he was dying.

Maybe he had even _hoped_ he was dying.

There was an all-encompassing pain. His mind jumped to having a heart attack—except he was choking too, suffocating. His fingers and toes tingled, he was sweating even though he wasn't hot, and he was off balance and dizzy.

Carl doesn't remember the ambulance ride or the doctors. He doesn't remember any of it until his admittance. He doubts he was even conscious.

Carl remembers some of this... interviewing with the intake, he'd stammered and stumbled over all his words through the pain. He hadn't laid still, he couldn't stop convulsing, and he tried to meet their eyes but couldn't do that either. Eventually he somehow ground out the information they were looking for: his and his families' medical backgrounds.

Finally Carl was brought here, where he proceeded to lie in the furthest corner of the room next to the window, hooked up to more IVs and machines that he thought possible.

Needless to say, Carl's scared, more scared than he's ever been in his life.

There's a _tap tap tap_ and a flurry of colors against the window.

But even more distracting is the strange man in his room.

He's good-looking, perhaps too much so. Reddish, fiery hair, eyes so dark you could swear they were black. He wears a white coat and stethoscope. Is he a doctor?

From somewhere outside Carl hears a bird scream shrilly. The tapping becomes more insistent.

Lazily, this doctor strolls over to the window and closes the blinds, leaving them completely in darkness. Carl finally notices that the lights are switched off.

"Carl, Carl, Carl… I'm doing you a favor, imagine that? Me? Taking pity on a mortal…"

Scratch the doctor getup, Carl realizes he's dealing with…

What exactly?

"Oh that's right, silly me, I erased your mind before I got to ask my questions. Let me refresh your memory just the tiniest bit then. I can always re-erase it all later with, let's say, a coma."

He stares at the other in growing horror and remembrance.

_Lone One, _Carl thinks with a shiver.

The Lone Power stiffens, the pacing stops, as he turns to look Carl directly in the eye and, no matter how much he wants to, Carl can't turn away.

"You know me," the Lone Power mutters, "No human on this planet is supposed to know me, beyond whatever naïve narratives they come up with.

"So first question," the Lone Power raises his voice, "how do you know who I am?"

_Greetings and defiance_, Carl thinks at Him, knowing He is reading his thoughts.

"You talk like a Wizard, but without the Speech. You act like one. You seem to know so much—too much actually, but I'll take care of that briefly. There are no wizards on this planet, so how is this possible? At first I just thought you were crazy, like the rest of the Powers do. But you're not, are you? Tell me your story."

_Never!_

"Very well then," for the first time since His arrival, the Lone Power looked bored. "I'll just have to extract it from you."

_You can't_, Carl tries to convince himself. But the reality is…

"Of course I can," the grin that has been plastered on the Lone Power's face since he arrived turns feral. "It was you who called for me…"

_No_.

"You who wanted to die…"

_NO!_

"I'm as much a part of you as I am all creation."

_No, no please!_ Carl begs. He couldn't take the few memories of Tom he had left from him, he just couldn't!

"And when we're done you won't remember a thing. Being struck by lightning tends to affect the brain you know. This could affect you…permanently."

All that he had done to find Tom was finally ending. How can he hold out against That Which Created Death?

He feels his mind being taken over even as he fights against it. He feels every single memory he has of Tom—the happiness and the anger—fall into the Other's grasp.

"For this?!" the Lone Power declares, baffled, "All this power, all this pain, for one man? This 'Tom' of yours… No, I know all of creation; I can assure you he doesn't exist. I don't believe your story. You're simply a fool for making it all up—for chasing a dream that isn't real."

_Tom exists_, Carl grounds out, _He exists because I know he exists_.

"He doesn't," the Lone Power riles, "And what would it matter if he did? He's just one man… why go through all of this for him?"

_You may have my memories, but you can't have my feelings. Of course you don't understand. You can't. Empathy—you lost that ability ages ago. The Fall has stripped you of much_.

"Don't make me mad Carl," the Lone Power warns sternly, "You don't want me mad. Remember, you have no power to protect yourself. In fact, that favor of mine. It's already done."

And with that it is. The machines beep and buzz as loudly as they can as Carl enters into a seizure. Amongst all the new doctors and nurses slipping in, the Lone Power slips out.

None of the usual medicines and treatments worked. Finally, to stop Carl from seizing and dying, the doctors put him in a chemical coma—just as the Lone One had predicted.

Carl is floating in nothingness, unaware of a macaw settling down next to his head, pressing up against him in the 'real world.'

Instead, he sees a tiny speck of light.

The spec is the size of a star being looked at from earth and growing brighter and brighter…

…and appears to be racing towards him.

Then the black flees altogether and Carl can only see pure white light, blinding as surely as pure darkness.

From within the light, eventually, Carl manages to spot something. A golden Door. Idly, he wonders if this is the gateway to heaven.

Has he died then?

Abruptly he is in front of the Door and, as he examines it closer, he can tell there are strange inscriptions on it—in a language he doesn't understand. In fact, the Door itself doesn't look earthly.

Carl starts puzzling over it, trying to scrutinize from every angle what the Door is trying to convey.

He reaches for the knob, only to find a growling dog suddenly in his way.

Carl starts and stumbles back.

The darkness returns.

"Carl!" Somebody calls out to him. Someone familiar…

"Ma?" he asks, confused and surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. He blinks away the bright light that bombards him only to find his mother, and the rest of his family, standing around his hospital bed.

"Oh thank God!" Carl's mother crosses herself with the hand that isn't holding onto his.

"Ma, what's going on?"

"You were struck by lightning." Cecilia responds for her. She looks on the verge of tears.

"Honey, don't cry." The endearment 'honey' was correct, he'd called her that many times over before, yet this time it seemed foreign to his lips. Carl reaches out for her with his other hand, despite the pain. She takes it and sinks to her knees next to him. "Everything is going to be alright." Carl continues comfortingly.

"We almost lost you!" she sobs, "what were you doing at Central Park in the middle of the night?"

The rest of his family awaited his answer as well.

He scrunches up his brow, trying hard to think of a reason for being there…

"I don't know."

A little while later they leave him for some peace and quiet. The need for sleep is imminent. The nurse brings in some medication for his throbbing headache that will supposedly knock him out and he's not complaining. It's been a bizarre day.

He really can't remember why he was in the middle of Central Park, but the doctor says temporary amnesia is common. He just wonders how 'temporary' it's going to be…

It's painful but he rolls over—he's never been one to sleep well on his back—and reaches behind his pillow only to find something there.

He pulls it out.

A blue feather.

_How odd_, he thinks, looking around. There's no other trace of a bird in sight.


	10. Chapter 9: Law of Association

CHAPTER 9: LAW OF ASSOCIATION

"Things once in contact continue to interact after separation."

_Present Day—_Carl's POV

"Wait a second, Carl."

"Sure Nita," Carl reached for his coffee gratefully, drained the rest of it, and sank back into the sofa. "What is it?"

"Let me just try to get things straight."

Carl waved a hand at her to continue, "Go ahead."

"You came out of the coma then." Nita ticked the point off on her finger.

"Yes, that is correct."

"And you didn't remember Tom. The Lone Power had stolen those memories from you?"

"Yep."

"So…how? How did you save a man you don't even remember?"

"I was put in a perfect universe." Carl said wryly and glowered slightly at Tom who had the gall to smile back. "Everything was right. My family was okay. I had the girl of my dreams. I was getting married. But in my heart of hearts I knew something was wrong… and I wasn't alone in that."

"Peach," Nita whispered in awe.

Carl nodded.

_Past_—Carl's POV

There wasn't a night Carl didn't dream about that door.

It was always the same sequence of events: first the darkness, then the light, then the Door, and finally the dog.

It was the dog that wouldn't let him pass.

Carl tried talking to it, reasoning with it, pleading with it… There _had_ to be something important behind that Door!

But still there was nothing except razor sharp teeth being bared in warning.

And when he awoke the next morning, he couldn't remember any of it—except that it was important, that he should recall it—and without it came a crushing disappointment.

In his current state, however, he couldn't begin to understand just how important it was... or the emptiness he felt. Just as white was the absence of color, emptiness was an emotion without happiness, without sadness, without anger.

_Present Day_—Carl's POV

"All right, Tom, it's your turn."

"Mine?" Tom asked, looking at him askance.

"Yes. Before I go any further I think you need to explain to Nita how it was you vanished in the first place."

Tom glanced at her, "She's not going to like it."

Nita did her best to appear encouraging, "Try me."

"You're not going to like it any more than he did, trust me."

Carl's hand landed on Tom's shoulder. "Just tell it."

"Okay, here it goes…" He chewed at his bottom lip. "But where to start? I suppose before I even met Carl. It was a month prior then…"

_August 29__th__, 1978—_Tom's POV

Two boys were playing soccer on a grass field.

"But why can't we be friends anymore, Jake?" One of the boys, Tom, asks, passing the ball.

The other boy Jacob chuckles, kicking the soccer ball ahead of them.

"I've explained this before, Tom," he replies patiently.

"Just one more time, please?"

Tom glances over at his blonde-haired, brown-eyed friend. They had been inseparable since high school. In Tom's opinion, Jake embodied the California standard of a 'surfer boy': always wearing trunks and a tee, never seeming to be affected by the weather, even while living in San Francisco.

"Well, we'll be on separate coasts for one: the Atlantic versus the Pacific." Jacob begins amiably.

"What difference does that make? We can still keep in touch!" Tom pants, trying to get his foot between the other boy's legs, but Jacob is too quick for him.

"Tom, you're gonna meet someone, your Partner in Wizardry, soon. I can't come between that." Jake shoots and scores at their makeshift goal of t-shirts.

"Why can't it be you? My Partner I mean... Why can't you be my Partner? You're my best friend in everything else!"

"Your Wizardry and mine aren't compatible. You know that." From somewhere unseen, Jacob pulls out a water bottle and squirts some in his mouth as Tom runs to grab the ball.

"Maybe not! Maybe we can make it work…" Tom shouts over his shoulder.

Jacob shakes his head sadly. "No, Tom, we can't."

Tom comes back and hands him the checkered ball. "But no contact at all? Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"It'll all make sense soon." Jacob just smiles his sunny smile. "You'll be too busy with your new Life to even notice I'm gone."

"That's not true either." Tom frowns.

Jake tilts his head, with a glazed faraway look in his eye. "Yes, yes it is." He sets the ball on the ground and gives it a good kick to Tom.

Tom hesitantly passes the ball back to him. It was that faraway look that instigated this whole thing days ago.

They say nothing more as they concentrate on their game of one-on-one.

"Whatever," Tom tries to appear nonchalant, breathing hard and reaching for a towel once they're done, "Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"You do the same."

Tom swallows hard and looks away.

An arm comes to rest over his shoulders as they walk away from the field.

"He'll come to mean more to you than I ever will, trust me."

"Why'd you have to be a Seer?" Tom questions the heavens loudly, drawing a few looks from the crowds.

_December 24__th__, Christmas Eve, 1978—_Tom's POV

"He's dying, Jake." Tom, head in his hands, sat on the end of his bed where Carl lay bleeding. He has tried all in his power to staunch the flow but in vain. Somehow Wizardry has no effect upon these injuries.

Through telepathy he had called out to other Wizards he knew—those whose specialty was healing—but he had never felt so disconnected as he realized his thoughts reverberated back to him without ever making contact.

He shudders. It had taken all his effort just to teleport back to here and Jacob, who mysteriously had been waiting for him.

"This is the Lone Power's doing." Tom states matter-of-factly, seething inside. "This is the Lone Power's fault. But why Carl, Jake? Why him? And don't give me the 'death doesn't pick or choose' speech or 'there's a time for everyone'… I know there's a specific reason!"

Jacob, leaning against the wall, looks down upon a moaning Carl and shakes his head in a mixture of knowing and pity.

"Fine, I don't need to know... just tell me how to save him!" Tom snaps at last when Jacob remains silent. He presses down hard on Carl, still trying to stop the flow.

"This wasn't just the Lone Power's doing," Jacob says carefully. "Nor that of the One's, as far as I can tell."

"What's that supposed to mean?! How can it _not_ be the One's? Doesn't It reside over everything?!"

"Because It won't interfere with free will, Tom. Carl chose this path. He made that decision on his own. The Lone One was merely a tool for something greater... what I cannot tell you."

"You can't tell me as in you don't know or as in you just won't."

Jacob remains silent.

"But why him, Jake? Why?"

"It's just his fate," Jacob shrugs uneasily but Tom can tell there's more to it than that.

"I don't buy it." Tom seethes in anger. "His death has no purpose, _serves no purpose!_"

"You don't know that," Jacob counters gently.

"YES I DO!" Tom yells at Jacob, and then to the heavens, "GIVE HIM BACK!"

It's quiet. Too quiet. Until Tom gives a heart wrenching sob.

Jacob breaks in gently, "Does any death serve a purpose Tom?"

"If you're going to lecture me on 'everything happens for a reason,' I'd just as soon not hear it. Can we please cut with the philosophical crap?"

"Of course you won't want to hear it. No one ever does," Jacob says, ignoring the rest. He's silent for a moment, until...

"How much would you give up for him?" Jacob asks carefully.

"What?" Tom replies, confused at the sudden change of topic.

"I said, 'How much would you give up for him?'" Jacob's steady gaze reveals nothing.

"I heard you the first time!" Tom snaps, and then takes a shaky breath before hearing himself voice four words: "I'd give up everything!"

Tom blinks in surprise. Those forceful words... he has no idea where they came from.

Yet, as each moment passes, and the more he thinks about it, the more certain he is...

The more he believes...

"Everything, are you sure?" Jacob finally asks after a long while.

"Yes!" Tom declares. "Anything that I ever felt was important to me! I'd give up my Wizardry, no even more than that—I'd... I'd give up my Life!" Tom finishes without hesitation.

"Would you give up your soul?" Jacob asks in a voice so small and wavering and already filled with regret that Tom almost misses it entirely.

Jacob takes another breath and asks in a rush before Tom can respond...

"Tom, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here?! I came here for help—_your help_—why aren't you helping him?!"

"I can't help him." Jacob replies smoothly and a little coldly. "And you didn't answer my question. What are you _really _doing here?"

"I don't understand..."

Jacob just looks at him and Tom remembers, _"He'll come to mean more to you than I ever will..."_

Tom feels faint. He has only known Carl for a little over three months now versus Jake who he's known for three years.

So why is he so willing to give up his Life for Carl—and maybe more?

Tom looks at Carl, prone and bleeding and broken on a bed and still the most beautiful person has ever seen. There really is only one answer.

The world can't survive without beauty and Tom's world couldn't survive without Carl.

"Why indeed," Jacob muses. "I know you Tom, you'd give up your Life for a stranger—that's just how you are. But remember, this is far more than your Life..."

Jacob's right.

But Carl is his Partner in Wizardry, even if he'd done little more than take the Oath, and Tom also...

And he...

Tom derails that train of thought, leaving it there, not willing to go that distance quite yet.

...but what if that's what it takes?

Something's wrong here, very wrong.

And Tom has to fix it.

"It's me right?" Tom acknowledges. "Only I can save him."

Jacob nods.

Tom kneels next to the bed.

He looks at Carl, how his breathing is so shallow, his heartbeat faint, and Tom knows he's hanging onto Life only by the Life energy Tom's feeding him... which is draining his own Life in the process.

Not even asking why, the answer comes to him in a heartbeat—and somehow, he'd always known.

"What do I do?" he whispers fiercely to Jacob with an intensity at odds with the way he tenderly pushes back Carl's sweat-matted hair from his face. "How do I save his Life?"

When no answer immediately comes forthwith he looks up to Jacob expectantly. "How do I make the Payment?"

Jacob flinches and hesitates.

"Dammit Jake, how do I do it?!" Tom pleads, feeling Carl slipping away from him faster and faster...

"First," Jacob begins slowly, "call your dog."

There's a pause in which Tom simply stares at Jacob.

"My dog," he deadpans. "My dog's not a Wizard, I've checked..."

"Nevertheless, we'll need his help."

"Okay..." Tom trails off, before his resolve firms. He eases Carl's head from his lap and jumps off the bed to go open the door.

"Jake! Here Jake!" It was a running gag between them that on the day they met, his parents had given him a dog named Jake.

"Jake come! Jake!" Tom whistles.

After a while, Tom wonders what's wrong; he knows his dog is out and about somewhere.

Then he hears a bark behind him.

Startled, he turns around to look back into his room.

His dog is sitting there watching him...

But where's the human Jacob?

Tom searches the room over.

He'd vanished completely.

"Jake?" Tom calls out uncertainly.

The dog looks up at his name.

Then it hits Tom, it finally hits him, and he wonders why he never thought of it before...

"No way," he whispers in denial.

He faces his dog.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Tom backs away slowly

A tail wags.

Now that he thought about it, they did look similar: brown eyes, sandy blonde hair...

And then it all comes back to him because Jacob has never been to his house at the same time as his dog. And they never went to Jacob's house at all, all these years, because of a hundred different excuses that worked on him every time.

He never questioned it, never thought he was being manipulated.

No wonder Jacob had said their Wizardry wasn't compatible.

"No way, there is just no way..." Tom lets the words hang in the air while he shakes his head, refusing to believe this, and tries to find the door.

But then he realizes that the dog is in between him and Carl.

And that isn't tolerable.

Moving around the room he kept to the walls, not going near the canine.

His dog—Jacob—simply holds up a paw disarmingly.

Still there's no communication between them.

A soft moan breaks Tom's concentration. He watches helplessly as Carl's body goes rigid and his soul gets ready to flee this world.

Jake barks commandingly.

And in that moment, Tom remembers his Oath.

"Show me the way, Jake."

With those words Time ripples and slows then stops. Space stretches itself out.

A golden Door appears.

Tom steps closer.

Words of the Speech are engraved on the handle.

And Tom knows what it is immediately.

It's an Oath.

Tom steps closer and clasps his hand around the handle. Taking a deep breath he begins...

_"**In this World without Words..."**_He starts off slowly, careful to pronounce every syllable.** "**_**I speak all Words and all that they define in Words that are my own.**_**" **

He turns to look at Carl—with the words seared on his soul he no longer needs to read it—but he doesn't dare step away from the Door. He doesn't know what would happen if he did...

"_**I leave now with the World waiting for you,**_**" **he turns back to the golden Door, tears in his eyes, but still determined.**"**_**May tomorrow find me not, never to meet again, not even in dreams. Let this be Truth. I swear that my Will won't change. **_

_"**I cannot speak about tomorrow, I cannot speak about today, and I can no longer speak about yesterday. The past, present, future is beyond me now. I choose to forget all these things. I shall not regret it. Let everything be reborn and returned to peace. I will not lose my way. How far I will go, I do not know. I only know this..."**_

The Door opened.

Tom looks back one more time and when he last speaks, the words are his...

_"**That I knew… happiness."**_

It wasn't what he meant to say exactly but it's enough, and with those words he throws away who he is.

He walks through the open Door.

And the dog Jake follows behind him.


	11. Chapter 10: Law of Connection

CHAPTER 10: LAW OF CONNECTION

"To have power over something is for it to have power over you."

_Present Day_—Nita's POV

Tom fell silent with a dazed look. Nita, riveted at the story, wanted to prod him for more, but a motion from Carl stopped her.

_Tom will tell it in his own time, _he thought at her.

She changed subjects. "How'd you get hurt, Carl?" She tried instead, turning to him. "Tom said you were bleeding to death?"

Reaching over to rub his partner's back soothingly, Carl explained calmly, "I'm the reason he almost got killed in the first place, Nita."

Carl hung his head and wrung his hands, looking thoughtful, "You see, the day I took the Oath was the same day I broke it..."

_Past_—Carl's POV

Carl had everything under control.

All that could be said of it was it was a well-planned crapshoot. There were uncertainties of course but all in all, the probability of things going wrong was disproportionate in comparison to things going superbly right.

He was known for his careful tactics. In all his heists he has never shot a person, nor been shot at for that matter. That's why people stayed with him—he didn't have to keep a gang in line, the gangs came to him for advice. He was well respected in these parts.

Carl peers around a corner. The steam rising from the grates of the manhole beneath him doesn't deter him the least. It's dark, but he can still tell the street's deserted. The hour for action was almost at hand.

He rechecks his strategy for the nth time. After all, Carl doesn't take chances.

And he needs this to work.

Glass cutters, scissors, an array of lock picks, gloves, spray paint, hooded sweatshirts—and above all street smarts—are all they're armed with. Well, that and their guns. This gang didn't trust Carl _that_ much.

It wasn't in case of the police or guards—there was no security where he burgled—it was for fear of rival gangs.

Where they stand is on foreign territory and therein lay the danger.

Each lookout was carefully placed, Carl himself having previously scoped out this area all week. One signals the all clear, eyes never once turning from where he is keeping watch. The other lookouts, some situated in abandoned buildings, most on rooftops, give the same signals.

Carl strides out onto the street, all together missing the warning shouts.

_What the—?_

Someone runs into him full force.

And down he goes.

Carl looks up at the man pinning him and hisses like an angered viper, "Tom!"

Tom had shown up with the worst possible timing. Carl didn't know how it was Tom had known he was here. He had given Tom no indication of where he'd be tonight. No hint at all that this would be his activity.

"What are you doing here?" He whispers fiercely, getting up and pulling Tom back into the alleyway with him, shoving him too hard against a wall. Déjà vu. "Have you been reading my mind again?!"

"It's a trap Carl, an ambush! They know you're coming! They know you're here!" Tom pants, looking up at him pleadingly. "I'm telling you, if you walk into that store it'll cost you your life!"

His gang had gathered around them at some point and were quietly watching from the sidelines. Some had their guns drawn, while others just fingered their hidden weapons.

He looks to Tom again and once more his rage fades to mere anger and then to something else entirely as he realizes this is _Tom_. Tom who is looking at him with absolute trust even as he's crushed against the bricks of the wall, Carl's arm across him and immovable. Tom, who has never lied to him. Tom, who is always looking out for him.

Tom, who he should've trusted in the first place...

"Run," he whispers to his gang and they don't need to be told twice. They disband.

Carl wonders if this will be it, his first shoot out. He grabs Tom and throws him behind a dumpster.

"Stay quiet," he warns, crouching down beside him.

He evaluates his current situation. He hadn't even thought of running like the others. Two, especially with one so inexperienced, wouldn't make it unless they split up, and if that were the case one of them would most likely be dead.

He glances over at his partner...

_When had he become that?_

He banishes the thought. He couldn't just leave Tom here.

He physically can't.

"How'd you know I'd be here?!" He asks furiously to a cowering Tom.

Tom, who is visibly trembling from nerves, shakes his head. "Not now."

"Yes now!"

Tom looks at him incredulously. "I have a friend who's a Seer. End of story."

"You have a friend who's a what?!"

Tom inhales, then exhales. "Like I said, I'll explain it to you later. Now how the hell do we get out of this?"

Carl's confused. "I thought you could teleport us or something?"

Tom shakes his head, "That would require more time than we have..."

Carl makes to respond but Tom stifles Carl's next words with a hand covering Carl's mouth and a finger to his lips.

Soon they hear footfalls.

"They were here somewhere," Carl starts and tries to speak, the voice is Mike's! Tom just presses his hand down over Carl's mouth harder, effectively restraining him.

"They better be Mike, I want my money."

"Hey, my snitch delivers. And if this doesn't work we'll just go to his house. I know where he lives. It's a little risky, but well worth it..."

More footsteps, sounding like someone was running towards them.

"Well Chase, what do you have for us?"

"The gang disbanded," says someone who's out of breath. "They knew you were coming."

"Impossible! Unless you were giving warnings..."

"No-no-no," Carl hears the sound of someone being slammed into the wall, then dropped. "It's just that Carl's good, he's never been caught at anything..."

There's a moment of quiet.

Then...

"Well, he's about to be caught now."

Carl hears two men walk away and another scramble off the ground to catch up.

Carl feels Tom shaking at his side.

"Tom," Carl whispers urgently. "Tom who was that guy?"

Tom has his arms around his knees and was leaning his head back against the wall, eyes closed.

Suddenly, Tom snapped to attention, straightening himself and jumping to his feet.

"They're going to your house Carl, is there anybody home?"

"How do you know...?"

"Just answer me!"

Carl shakes his head in the negative, they were safe. It was family night—the one night at the end of each month where they pooled their resources together and had an outing...

Carl freezes.

"Anthony." He whispers in fear.

"Your little brother?" Tom asks, concerned.

"He wasn't feeling very well tonight, had a fever and all, and mom... mom told him to stay home...and...and there's nobody else there!"

Carl springs off the floor, scrambling to his feet so fast that Tom has to steady him.

Then they both head north at a run.

_Present Day_—Nita's POV

"Who were those people, Carl?" Nita asked after a sip of soda. Tom had gone off and returned with cokes while the story was being told.

"Well Mike you heard of. He was the co-leader of our little 'gang,' and I use that term loosely because for the most part we were never really involved ourselves in gang activities. We never hurt anyone, and we especially didn't engage in gang warfare. Mostly we just banded together because there was safety in numbers. Thanks," he said to Tom when he was handed a soda.

"So why were you there that night Carl? I thought you didn't do anything that was against the law..."

Carl shook his head, his mood black. "I never said that. I was involved in my share of heists, burglaries, and carjacks. But we only did it when we were desperate. Families to feed, and so on..."

"Our very own Robin Hood if you will, Nita," Tom joked, earning him a glare from Carl.

Carl took another breath.

"Mike talked me into it, the bastard. He was in real trouble money-wise. I thought I'd help him out, but..."

"I see," Nita was quiet for a moment, then asked Carl, "and who else?"

"Who else what?"

"Who else was there that night...?"

"Chase, who was just a runner for me, but a dealer for him."

"And who was 'him'?"

"A Drug Lord and..." Carl fell silent.

_Past_—Carl's POV

They were too late. Carl knew it from the moment they arrived. That sinking feeling had sunk.

The house and street were both eerily quiet, the wind pushing open the front door ajar of a house that had once been locked tight.

Not only that, instinctively Carl just knew something was very very wrong here, though he didn't know how he knew. It was in the air. He could feel the badness radiating from his home.

Carl wanted to charge right in but a hand at his wrist stops him and pulls him back forcibly into the alleyway nearest his home.

"Tom, what?!"

"Shh!"

Tom peaks around the corner.

Carl is vexed. "Tom! Let go of me!"

He tries to pry his arm away but Tom's grip is steel.

Tom turns to him, "No! Not until we've figured out a plan of action! If we just go storming in there, most likely we'll all be killed..."

"But..."

"Be quiet! Or at least lower your voice... Now, what do you have that they want?"

"What?" Carl's perplexed, until he remembers that underneath the floorboards is his most precious possession... "Your watch!"

Tom closed his eyes in pain. "I'm sorry Carl, I'm so sorry! I didn't know..."

But Carl never heard him for at that moment he remembered something else. Underneath that same floorboard was...

"A Wizard's Companion!" He nearly shouts, before remembering the situation.

He turns to Tom...

"Tom, do you have your copy?!"

And as Carl continues with his revelations, he doesn't even notice Tom's hesitancy.

"How do I do it again, Tom? How do I call my Manual? Is it like this? Here, Manual, here!"

And sure enough his Manual materializes before his very eyes.

"Carl," Tom begs. "Please don't do this; you don't know what you're getting into..."

Carl whirls on him in anger. "Tom, I've had enough! You don't know everything! You don't have a clue about what's going on here! Yes, they're using Anthony as leverage against me, but you don't know what they'll do to him in the process!"

Tom gulps and looks down.

"You're right Carl, you're absolutely right..."

He looks to Carl. "But what are we going to do? You haven't even taken your Oath yet!"

Carl frowns, before his face lights up again. He figures the obvious course of action is to...

"I'll take it now."

Carl, absorbed in his planning, barely sees the horrified expression on Tom's face.

"Carl..." Tom stutters. "You can't just... I mean... this isn't right!"

"Tom what did I just say? You don't know everything..."

"But I know more about Wizardry than you do and the Oath should never be taken with malicious intent!"

"It's for Life!" Carl protests. "Anthony's Life!"

"But what do you intend to do with..."

"Look," Carl says in a tone that brooks no more arguments. "I will take whatever Punishment those Powers of yours dish out... as long as I get to save Anthony first."

Tom nods reluctantly, then sighs. "Then say it... say the Oath."

Carl clears his throat and grabs the book that's still suspended in mid-air. Opening to the page in his Manual that has the Oath, he starts reading.

_Past_—Tom's POV

_**Whatever I do, **_

_**In everything, **_

_**I will persevere **_

Tom starts at the words. The Oath Carl's reading sounds nothing like the Oath Tom had taken. In fact, Tom has never heard an Oath quite like this one. It's almost...poetic.

_**No matter how difficult my Fate may be**_

_**I will not regret,**_

_**Through all the pain**_

_Is he making this up? _Tom wonders. He worries about what the words might mean, yet is intrigued in spite of himself.

"_Carl!"_ He wants to cry out, wants to tell him that this is the wrong Oath... but is it?

His throat closes up and, consequently, he holds his tongue. Tom's worried that this is taking too long but then again, looking around him, Time seems to have stopped.

Tom didn't know what was taking place any more...

_**Whatever happens**_

_**I'll be sure not to give up **_

_**Even if I lose everything in exchange...**_

Tom's speechless. The Oath Carl is giving is vague as can be yet understandable in its intent.

_**Someday, without a doubt,**_

_**The day is coming,**_

_**When I will protect you...**_

Carl had closed his eyes for the last part of the Oath. He opens them then and, with fire sparking behind them, he fastens them on Tom.

"It's time."

Carl smiles and Tom has to admit he's a little intimidated by it.

"Ok first," Carl starts. "Where's that teleportation spell that you keep so handy...?"

Tom fumbles for a pen out of thin air along with his Manual and kneels on the alley's floor.

"I wish we had more time," he mutters, doodling in his Manual.

"Tom, I said..."

"I know what you said and that's what I'm doing!" Tom snaps, not looking up. "You may have taken the Oath Carl, but you don't understand a thing about the mechanics."

He keeps writing vigorously.

"Tom this is taking too long!" Carl complains.

"Done! But I only wrote the Spell for me... It's too dangerous for you since we haven't figured out your Name in the Speech yet and we don't have the time to do it now. I did, however, manage to write an open ended Spell but it's only sufficient for one other person. And you said you wanted your brother..."

"Enough," Carl raises a hand, "That's good enough."

"But Carl, what are you going to...?"

Carl shakes his head, "My life is of no importance."

"That's not true!" Tom protests vehemently, scrambling off the ground where he'd been sitting on to do his Work.

Carl shrugs with his trademark 'I could care less' attitude. "That's how it is Tom. Now..."

"But... but Carl..." Tom closes the distance between them enough to grab fistfuls of Carl's shirt. "At least let me show you some defense symbols!''

Carl is about to consent when they heard the shots...

...and little Anthony's screams.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Before Tom can stop him, Carl pushes him away and is running through the front door, dropping his Manual in the street in the process.

There's more shots.

Tom tries to calm himself down, to _not_ hyperventilate, and to overall get a grip.

Then he teleports in and wants to die.

_Past_—Tom's POV (continued)

Tom feels the second Carl drops. With a quick prayer to the One that he has all the data right, he teleports into the kitchen. He does so in a way that doesn't displace the air so he didn't think anyone noticed.

He creeps to the edge of the kitchen and slowly glances around the corner, completely silent, attempting to keep the element of surprise.

Until he gasps at what he sees.

_It wasn't for a stupid watch, _his mind screams at him. He can barely hear it through the buzzing in his ears.

He knows what he wants to do; his first instinct is to kill: Chase, Mike, and especially the Drug Lord.

But then he knows what he has to do and that's get Carl and Anthony away from this place.

He readies his transport spell...

But then chokes.

There's only enough for two... and no matter what Carl says, he can't leave him.

The whole place is shot up: holes in walls, broken windows, and three seemingly dead bodies on the ground.

Tom's heart skips a beat when he realizes two of them are Carl and Anthony.

He watches in horror as the Drug Lord pulls the trigger on the last man in the room besides himself: Mike, who had been begging on his knees for his life.

"Please..."

Another shot and, shattered, Mike drops to the floor. Lifeless.

Tom huddles back around the corner and prays that the police come soon. Surely someone has heard the commotion...?

"Except the parameters around here are soundproof. Even vision is useless. We're invisible to the world until I say so."

The Drug Lord is smiling when he finishes and turns to Tom, who was so sure the Drug Lord hadn't noticed he was there. Then he got a good look at the Drug Lord.

His eyes were black. His hair a shock of red. Like flames framing darkness.

"Lone One," Tom whispers and then wishes he hadn't.

"Tom Swale," the Lone Power states flatly, as if they'd known each other for ages.

But they hadn't, he had never encountered the Lone Power—he had never had an Ordeal to do so—but he knew clear as day that's who he was dealing with.

Suddenly there's a moan in the room. And he knows without looking it came from Carl.

He has to keep the Lone Power's attention on him.

"What do you want?" Tom attempts at congeniality, all the while trying to remember every passage from the Manual he'd ever read on the Power and every spell he'd ever completed that could come in useful right about now.

Which weren't many.

The Lone Power has the gall to shrug. "What I always want: mayhem, death, destruction..."

"But this isn't right..." Tom shakes his head. "You can't just take corporal form whenever you want. You need..."

"Consent? Well, I had his." He indicates his body. "Nathanial Maxwell, believed in me, worshiped me, invited me in, how could I say no to such a kind offer?"

"So you stole his soul." Tom spat, disgusted.

"On the contrary, he offered it to me as collateral. I gave him all he wanted. And when he couldn't think of anything else, I took what I wanted. It was a business transaction. Simple as that."

So he's just in mortal form. But Tom still can't kill another human, even though he has serious doubts as to whether this "Nathanial" is human any more.

An exorcism perhaps? Oh by the Powers, does he even know how to do that?!

He can't remember.

"Why here?" Tom stalls. "Why him? Why Carl?"

"If you have no idea, then why should I tell you?" The Lone One drawls.

Tom slowly starts to inch his way towards Anthony.

"I wouldn't bother, he's already dead. And your Carl will be too. Very soon, I can tell these things."

"_My_ Carl?"

"Of course! He would be alive if it weren't for you."

"You're the Prince of Lies," Tom mumbles, making his way more quickly to Carl's brother's side.

"Am I? See for yourself..." the Lone Power says in a voice that suggests he's bored.

He's right. The Lone Power's right.

Anthony's dead.

"You're the one who showed Carl his Manual. You're the one who talked him into being a Wizard. If it weren't for you, I would have no quarrel with him."

It wasn't true... He hadn't forced Carl into anything, Carl had taken the Oath of his own volition...

Right?

"Why him?" Tom's voice is heavy with rage and despair as he inadvertently allows himself to be sucked in by the Power's words.

"Because his is—well, was—a talent too great to leave neglected... just like yours actually, only it never manifested. But all is well now. He will die, as will you..."

A gunshot rang through the air. With wide-eyes Tom watched as the Lone Power's—or at least Nathanial's body's—eyes rolled up into their sockets as he collapsed. And Tom can't help but notice the smirk on his lips.

"C-Carl?" Tom's heart leaps to his throat.

Carl stands, using the door frame for support, one hand holding a gun that's shaking with strain.

He gasps in pain and drops the gun. There's no need for it anymore. The Lone Power—having taken Nate's incarnate form—had died with a bullet shot perfectly into the back of his skull.

Tom ran across the room to Carl.

"Anthony," Carl coughs up blood as he leans against Tom, "Take me to Anthony."

"Carl..."

"Please, Tom!"


	12. Chapter 11: Law of Synthesis

CHAPTER 11: LAW OF SYNTHESIS

"Any two opposing forces may be unified in a force which will contain both the original opposites."

(Whitcomb 14)

_Present Day—_Nita's POV

Nita was confused and voiced as much, "Carl? Tom? Is there something you're not telling me?" She looked between the two, eyes settling on Tom. "What makes Carl's and your power so special?"

Tom held his head in his hands.

"Not yet, Nita, just not yet..." he whispered.

"It'll come in its time, hon, secrets always do." Carl scooted closer to Tom, put his arm around him, and gave him a friendly hug.

"Now, where'd we leave off last?" Carl asked, looking off into the distance.

"The One only knows," Tom remarked bitterly.

He stood up. "I'm sorry Nita; this is getting to be a bit much for me. I need to get some air." And with that he walked over to the sliding glass door, opened it, and stepped outside.

Carl followed him with a gesture for Nita to stay where she was.

In the meantime Nita, patiently waiting, called on her own Manual, So You Want To Be A Wizard, from subspace.

A Wizard's Companion, that's what Carl and Tom's Manuals were called, she reflected.

Holding her own Manual in her hands, and running her fingers over the cover words, she wondered what it meant, if anything, that their Manuals were named differently.

"Oh, it means something all right."

Carl had come back in.

"Why don't we all go out there?" He motioned to the sliding glass door.

"It's cold though..."

Carl gave her a look. "We're Wizards hun, we can make a warm eco bubble for a while. Just expand the one around the fish pond really."

Nita nodded then needed a little help off the chair she was sitting in. They made their way to join Tom by waterfall in the backyard.

"The only way you can change the Absolute, Nita, is the same as making another draft for a book... You rewrite It."

Tom's sudden talking startled Nita.

She jumped.

"Then the original is gone, like it never happened... because it didn't." Tom finished, not looking at Nita.

Nita hesitantly voiced a question. "Sort of like The Book Of Night With Moon then?"

"Sort of," Tom looked grave.

"But not really?"

"That book makes changes to the world directly... we're talking indirectly." Carl rebutted gently. Then, "We're talking about a series of events that changes the pasts and futures of everybody on this planet—in this universe in fact."

"You have no idea," Tom went on, "what happens when one person no longer exists..."

"What changes would it bring about Nita?" Carl adds in, "For instance, what would happen if there were no human Wizards in this galaxy? Could it still exist?"

Nita shuddered to think... then stopped and wondered.

"Just one person?" She asked dubiously. "How can the whole of the universe become off balanced by the loss of just one person?"

"Because 'one grain of rice can tip the scale.' That's an old human saying..." Tom added.

"There's a Plan, Nita." Carl went on. "A natural Order to Life. And when that Order is violated... Chaos ensues. Until Order is reestablished by the One... or in some rare cases, by someone else."

"Order?" Nita flashed back to the conversation she'd had in her Dream. "Like the 'Order' Ponch was talking about?"

Carl nodded. "The very same."

"Nita, you can't even begin to imagine what it takes to reseal Chaos..."

"Did you know Tom? That all this would happen?"

Tom shook his head, "No—eventually I found out—but not then. Even if I had, however, I would've done the same thing." He finished vehemently.

Nita looked between the two of them in awe. There was just something about this that she couldn't place...

"So if one man could cause a whole race to disappear, what do you think a whole race disappearing would do to the universe?"

"But people die all the time!" She protested.

"They die, not cease existing..."

She shook her head.

"It sounds impossible!"

"It's improbable, but not impossible... nothing is impossible..." Tom trailed off.

"Now," Carl hunkered down. "Back to the story..."

_Past_—Carl's POV

The day would come when he would remember, Carl figured.

It had to. He had to.

For now, all he knew he knew in dreams.

Yet it seemed he had an ally in the matter.

Carl—released from the hospital a month after being struck by lightning, burn marks fading but skin still sickly yellow and mottled with unattractive purple and blue streaks that wouldn't fade with time—carried that blue feather, jammed in his left pocket, with him wherever he went. He even twiddled it between his fingers from time to time. He knew it meant something, he just wasn't sure _what_.

His being alone in the middle of Central Park in the middle of the night meant something too.

But he didn't know where in Central Park he had been and he didn't know what the feather belonged to.

He had asked the nursing staff if any of them had pet parrots but he'd only gotten strange looks in return.

So he was back to square one.

Only, he didn't even know where square one was.

So he takes a walk through Central Park at night with a flashlight, even though he doesn't know where he's going or what he'll do when he gets there.

After a while, he spots a flicker of color in the corner of his eye.

Spinning around, he shines his light and looked carefully into the barren skeletons the trees had become for winter.

Sure enough, as though expecting him, there is-in majestic blue, gold, and scarlet-a macaw watching him from a low branch.

They look at each other, sizing each other up for several seconds until Carl, feeling very foolish, offers his arm to the bird, fully expecting it to fly away.

He gasps when the macaw alights on his outstretched wrist.

She's a gorgeous bird—he doesn't know how to tell if a bird is male or female, so he'll just speculate female—and she gazes at him calmly through dark beady eyes

Eyes so dark he can almost recall something...

Then the bird takes flight... "Wait! Don't go yet!" Carl shouts at her, and then feels foolish because obviously a bird won't understand him...

Except she lands in a nearby tree, gazing at him in an expectant manner.

Carl isn't sure what to think.

He just knows he doesn't believe in coincidences.

There was a macaw feather under his pillow and there is a macaw watching him now.

So, trying not to question it too much, he follows the macaw's lead.

And where she leads him is deeper and deeper into the heart of Central Park.

Eventually, Carl has to cut off the paved path and make his way through a thicket of brush, which was thornier than before the leaves had fallen off.

It's strange. He knows he wasn't found here—it seems that nothing and no one has been here—except...

Something catches his eye in the bushes.

He picks out a piece of green cloth on one protruding limb.

The same kind of cloth he's wearing now...

He looks at his jacket and sees that there is indeed a tear in one of his sleeves.

So he _ha_s been here before.

He isn't sure what to make of this revelation. He only knows that something deep inside is driving him forward, giving him the will and vitality to keep going.

With newfound resilience he fights his way through the shrubbery.

He was never alone while he worked through it; the bird never once left him. She was always in sight, colors unmissable against the white snow.

Finally he stumbles into a clearing.

And stops before a circle.

It's eerily quiet where he arrived. The scene before him is almost perfectly preserved. Not a creature or a leaf seems to have disturbed the circle that lay in front of him, as though time in this area had stopped.

There wasn't any snow here either.

He's stunned.

Carl stands just outside the circle, starting when the scarlet macaw lands on his shoulder.

He looks around and, seeing nothing, steps inside the circle.

"You broke the first rule of Wizardry, Carl, 'Don't Summon what you can't Banish...'"

Carl spins around, heart pounding, causing the macaw to squawk in protest and dig her claws in painfully for stability.

But Carl doesn't feel any of it. His attention is drawn to a boy his age stepping out of the shadows... and Carl has the unnerving feeling he's been there the whole time.

_That's impossible_, Carl's logical mind protests.

"Who—who are you? How do you know my name?"

"My name is Jacob, but Tom used to call me Jake."

_Tom_. The name resonates_, _like a string being plucked on a harp that has never before been played, and Carl doesn't understand why.

Jacob looks at Carl as if this should have some significance, and then sighs when Carl fails to produce the reaction he was searching for...

"You really don't remember, do you," It isn't a question. Jacob shakes his head in what Carl perceives as pity. "Either way, I've been expecting you."

With a wave of his hand he indicates the drawings and symbols inside the circle.

"This work of yours was crude, but effective—too effective actually."

"Wait a second," Carl briefly breaks out of his astonishment to ask a burning question, "Are you saying all this is my doing?"

"Yes, unfortunately. However, you didn't set your intentions right. So that night you got three Powers instead of just one."

"Three what?" Carl asks, confused, but Jacob ignores him.

"You got the Lone Power, who erased your memories. You got the One's Champion, who has been protecting you from anymore of the Lone One's meddling. And then you got me."

"And what are you supposed to do?"

"I'm supposed to lead you the way home."

"I don't understand." Carl says earnestly.

"No, of course not. How could you?" Jacob replies quietly.

Silence ensues.

Jacob begins anew. "Did you ever feel like something wasn't right with the world? Ever feel incomplete? Like something or _someone_ was missing?"

Carl doesn't have an immediate answer to that, and Jacob presses on before he could formulate one.

"The truth is..." Jacob pauses for a moment, then shakes his head, "Never mind what the truth is, the _point_ is..."

"Wait," Carl interrupts, finally feeling like he's on to something, "What is the truth?"

"'What' indeed?" Jacob stares him down. "How are you so certain the truth is a 'what' and not a 'who'?"

"Is this some kind of trick question?"

"Is it? You tell me." And Jacob's face is a study in impassivity.

Carl opens then closes his mouth, speechless. What was there to say?

"What indeed."

Carl's eyebrows shoot straight up, "Are you reading my mind?" he demands, before realizing how foolish that sounds.

When Jacob still doesn't say anything, Carl tries another approach, confessing. "I have no idea what you're talking about; can you explain all this to me?"

Jacob shakes his head. _Why does he look so sad?_ Carl wonders.

"Most things in this world cannot be explained. In this case especially, you must come to your own conclusions."

"Then can you at least give me the..."

Jacob holds up a hand to stall him. "There are no facts. Just questions that need answering..."

He looks down at the circle and then up at Carl expectantly. "Would you care to let me in?"

And Carl is at a loss again. "You mean you can't enter by yourself?"

"No."

Carl hesitates, then... "Fine, you can come in."

Jacob doesn't move.

Carl's forehead wrinkles when he frowns, wondering if he's done something wrong...

"It's not that you've done anything wrong, it's that you didn't do it right... You have to cut me in."

Carl takes a step back, "No way, not going to do it, no blood!"

"STOP!" Jacob commands.

Carl freezes.

"If you break this circle it's all over. You won't ever find him. And greater consequences than that will occur for all of us."

Carl quickly steps into his previous position. He doesn't know who "he" is or what "all of us" entails but something tells him he really doesn't want to find out that way.

_What is this? What's going on? _Are the thoughts that swim through his mind, finally ending with, _do I even want to know this? _

"How do I let you into the circle?" Carl asks finally, sounding braver than he's feeling.

"Use the athame."

"The what?"

"The knife."

Carl takes a deep breath and picks up the athame gently from its place on the wooden altar. It could be just his imagination but it feels strangely warm to the touch.

"This circle is alive Carl and encompassing all of you. Now imagine you're making a doorway. Use that athame and part the air with a cutting motion going first horizontally, and then vertically."

Feeling slightly silly, Carl does as he's told and... is he imagining things? Or does the air really feel thicker beneath his hands?

This is all impossible. He doesn't believe in witchcraft.

"But you do believe in the Unknown." Jacob steps forward into the circle. "That's how I'm here."

Jacob sits down on the ground cross-legged, then looks up at Carl expectantly.

"Close the circle first," Jacob tells him.

Carl looks at Jacob blankly. Jacob sighs, "Reverse whatever you did to open it. And don't forget to visualize, that's more important than the movements."

Carl does as he's told and, once finished, faces Jacob for further instruction.

Jacob motions to the floor in front of him, "Sit down."

Carl sits.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, staring each other down, but apparently Carl passes some kind of test because Jacob nods resolutely.

Jacob begins, "I cannot give you your memories back Carl, so what you have to do you'll have to do in blind faith or not at all..."

Carl nods, still unsure.

Jacob abruptly changes the subject, "What I am about to tell you now is to remain secret, something that will be kept between you and I alone. It is about Time and Its manipulation."

Jacob's outlook turns grave. "Listen closely now Carl, this is important and you must understand all of it. You see in Time there is no distinction between past, present, and future, they all flow together. That means that one can be accessed just as readily as the other. For instance, what we do now affects your future _and _past, and what I say in the next five minutes—and the decisions that you will make hereafter—will ultimately change not only your fate but the fate of this Earth, and many other Earths to come..."

Carl doesn't know what to say to that.

"However," Jacob clears his throat, "those who can make such an impression, and use such power, are very rare. I only know of one other, and even he cannot do what you are about to do."

"Tom...?" Carl asks uneasily.

Jacob nods.


	13. Chapter 12: Law of Duality

CHAPTER 12: LAW OF DUALITY

"Opposites can be defined only in relation to each other."

(Whitcomb 15)

_Past_—Carl's POV

"Your Gift, Carl, is Timelessness. One who transcends Time." Jacob finishes.

Carl shifts on the ground uneasily, folding his hands in his lap and suddenly finding them much more interesting than the world around him. "I don't know what you're talking about." He says truthfully.

"I told you, you wouldn't, but hear me out all the same."

Carl nods once, tersely, without looking up.

"What if I were to tell you that the Craft really did work?"

"The Craft?" Carl tentatively returns his gaze to Jacob's.

"Witchcraft," Jacob says, indicating the circle they were in.

"And what if I were to tell you that Witchcraft isn't the only source of Magick in this world? What if I said that _all_ religions have their own Power? Would you believe me?"

Carl couldn't answer that. "I'm not sure..."

"It's the Power of Belief, Carl."

Jacob runs his hand through his hair, mulling something over. "You see, there's Magick rooted in every tradition..."

He looks at Carl. "Have you ever wondered how religion came to be in humanity?"

Carl shakes his head. He tried to stay neutral as far as religious things went. More often than not it was like treading on eggshells. He could already tell this was going to be one of those times. What can he say that won't offend?

"I'm sorry; I'm more of a math and science kind of guy then a philosopher..."

"...or a Wizard." Jacob finished for him. "You'd be surprised just how well math and science fit into what I have to say next."

Carl's eyebrows rise briefly, then knit into a frown.

"Wizardry?"

Jacob nods. "Different from Witchcraft. First, answer my question on how religion came to be."

Carl shrugs. "I'm not sure. I suppose..." he stops himself, placing a hand behind his head and rubbing. "I don't really know, to tell you the truth. I've never thought about it..."

"What do you know? What do you believe? What don't you believe?"

"Why is this so important?"

"Because if we're going to recreate the world, then we have to do it right. And we must know the limitations of your perceptions."

Carl's eyes widen. "What do you mean 'recreate'?"

Jacob waves away his concerns. "Later, now _what is your Truth_? I need to know where you're coming from..."

"Why...?"

"What do you believe in?"

Carl swallows hard.

"What are you asking me?"

"Exactly what I said, '_what do you believe in?'_"

Carl stays quiet, still unwilling to answer, mostly for one reason...

"Your family and friends are not here Carl," Jacob encourages, "nor is anyone else besides us. What you say will remain in confidence between you and me. I shall not judge you if you do not judge me in return. It's time you thought about this."

"It's not that I've never thought about it before," Carl hastens to reassure, "It's just what I think I know scares me. And what I don't know—which is pretty much everything—terrifies me..."

Jacob nods. "Understandably. Go on."

Carl takes a deep breath.

"I don't believe in God," he says in a rush, with conviction, hearing it ring in his ears for the first time.

Carl stills, taking it all in, half expecting to be smote. He thinks about what it means... Then he sighs.

"Well," he continues, "that's not quite right.

"I do believe there's some One," he allots, "there must be some Higher Power, or Powers, because I don't think we're here by accident. I don't know what our purpose is, but I think we have one. I believe in clichés too: good will triumph over evil; humans are inherently good; and Love—true Love never dies."

Carl finishes, not saying a word more. He knows how all that must sound but he is a romanticist, a dreamer, despite his inherently logical nature. He's always known that about himself and he won't apologize for it.

"And you are absolutely _sure_ of that last one?" Jacob asks at last, neutrally.

Carl blinks. "What do you mean?"

Jacob sighs. "It's true that Love is the most powerful force in the universe..." He trails off and looks at something over Carl's shoulder for a while.

The moment stretches out long enough that, when Jacob does speak again, it startles Carl. "Naturally even the Lone One craves it—as It is wont to crave all power—but that Lust for power is the very reason why Love always eludes It."

"Lone One? You mentioned that before didn't you—you said whatever It is took my memories or something...?"

Jacob smiles, "You've been paying attention."

Carl scowls. "Of course I have."

"Then listen to me now: you have been charged with many duties in this Life, but the first and foremost is to prove one thing—prove that human beings are worthy of becoming Wizards."

Stunned, Carl doesn't have the slightest idea on how to respond to that...

Or even if he heard it right.

Carl makes an attempt to stand, but stops midway at the look in Jacob's eyes.

"I'm sorry that I had to spring this on you so suddenly Carl but, ironic as this is, we're running out of time."

"Huh? I thought you said..."

"I know what I said," Jacob takes in a deep breath, "and yes you do have the Gift, but even you have to obey certain rules—though once you learn them you can bend them to your will—but the rest of the world has to obey these laws even more so."

Jacob stands up and brushes himself off. "We have to hurry this along because the circle you created for banishing the Lone Power is weakening—it took a lot of energy to create it and you don't have enough power to recreate it yet. And if the Lone One finds us here, It'll kill us—and even the One's Champion will be powerless to stop It."

Carl pushes himself off the ground and mimics what Jacob did to shake the dirt from his clothes.

Jacob looks him up and down when Carl's done.

"Will you help me or not?"

Carl eyes him for a minute. "I'm not sure whether to believe you... can't you give me some concrete proof that this is real?"

"No."

Carl blinks at the one word answer, then shakes his head.

"Do I at least have your assurance that...?"

"No, no promises Carl."

Carl takes a deep breath, "Okay, what do I have to do?"

"Go home. Be with your family. Enjoy this Life for a little while. Because all things considered, even I cannot tell which world we'll end up in."

Carl was going to say something else but the macaw started screeching and flapping its wings. Then, before he could stop her, she took flight into the darkness.

Once she was out of sight, he looks to Jacob.

Only to find he's vanished as well...

"Wait!" He calls out to either of them, "How will I find you?"

He never gets an answer.

_Past_—Carl's POV

Carl returns to his house both physically and mentally exhausted.

He also returns to a worrying family and a tearful fiancé. He's barely stepped through the door before...

"Carl!" They all shout at once.

He winces.

"Mom? Dad? Cecelia?"

The three of them are standing inside the entrance to the living room.

"I can explain," he blurts out before remembering that no, he can't tell them anything.

"Hush! Your brothers are all asleep upstairs," Carl's mom whispers, conveniently forgetting the fact that she was the one who had yelled the loudest.

She ushers him inside and closes the door against the bitter cold.

Carefully he removes his boots and coat and anything else that is wet and cold and covered with snow.

Finally, once he's stripped of all his outdoor wear, he steps out of the hall and into the family room. The others follow him.

They each take a seat and Carl frowns when Cecelia doesn't sit next to him on the couch.

"What's wrong sweetheart?"

She shakes her head, "You tell me."

"She's right," Carl's father says, "What _have_ you been doing, Carl?"

"I'm not sure myself," Carl says simply, creating a steeple with his fingers and leaning his head against them.

"What I am sure of," Carl continues, "is that I don't know what happened to me that night out in Central Park."

"You were struck by lightning!" Carl's mother says with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, but what was I doing out there in the first place?"

Carl's father shakes his head. "Nobody knows."

"Exactly, that's what I'm trying to find out!" Carl sighs.

"Please don't." That came from Cecelia, who is huddling in a corner of the room.

"Sweetie," he opens his arms to her. She makes her way over slowly and when she arrives, he wraps her in a hug.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

But Jacob was right... something _was_ missing.

This just didn't feel right anymore.

...did it ever feel right in the first place?

He has memories of the two of them to be sure—lots of them—but they were becoming almost surreal as the days passed.

Since the hospital.

To the point where there almost seems to be a division in Carl's Life: his Life-Before and his Life-After.

"Does this have anything to do with our trip to San Francisco?"

Carl frowns, "What?"

"You don't remember?" Cecelia asks, looking surprised.

"Cecelia dear, the doctor said he would show signs of memory loss, especially of times near the event of the lightning strike." Carl's mom corrects her gently.

"What trip to San Francisco?" Carl asks, perplexed.

"We went to San Francisco to pick out a wedding dress..." Cecelia explains. "Or at least that's what I thought we were doing. Turns out we spent all that time looking for a friend of yours, but we never found him."

"My friend?" _Him?_

"You said his name was Tom Swale."

_My name is Jacob, but Tom used to call me Jake."_

_"You really don't remember, do you."_

Carl uses his middle finger and thumb to rub at his temples. His head has started hurting.

"Did we ever find him?" Carl finally asks.

"No," is the answer he gets, just the one word.

Carl sighs. That explains that, which in reality doesn't explain anything at all.

"I'm going to bed." Carl says at last. It's not an excuse to get away he tells himself, he really is tired.

"Sleep well son, and promise me that you won't go out there again?" Carl's father pleads.

Carl makes a noncommittal noise, because he can't keep such a promise, before making his way upstairs.

Upon reaching his room, and his bed, he simply collapses—exhausted beyond measure.


	14. Chapter 13: Law of Personification

CHAPTER 13: LAW OF PERSONIFICATION

"Any concept, force, object, or phenomena may be considered to be alive, to have a personality, to be an entity."

(Whitcomb 15)

_Past—_Carl's POV

Catholic Mass—liturgy—means a lot of different things for different people.

Carl, being raised in a traditional Italian Catholic family, had been going to Mass for as long as he could remember but nothing had ever truly resonated with him there.

He doubted today would be any different.

He went through the motions of dipping two fingers into the holy water and crossing himself for purification. And then, upon entering, inspiration struck and he wanted to do something more.

Carl separates from his family and walks towards the back of the church. He fumbles in his pockets for some coins and then, after dropping them in the box, he lights a small white candle for Tom Swale—whoever he is.

Was.

When he's done lighting he kneels, fingers entwined, and tries to picture the young man—only without knowing where to start.

He does the best he can do though, and then he stands, dusts his pants off, and glances up at the light streaming in through an angel caught in a stained glass window.

Finished, he goes to find his family waiting for him in the pews.

"Who was that for?" Cecelia whispers at him when he joins them.

He shakes his head and doesn't answer her, pressing a finger to his lips.

The organ starts to play.

The procession began with altar boys leading the way, swinging bells and incense, followed by the priest, Father Paulo.

When they reach the head of the church, Father Paulo turns to the congregation. "Peace be with you." He intones solemnly.

"And also with you." Carl and the congregation reply by rote, then take their seats.

"Let us pray." Father Paulo declares, clearing his throat, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." He makes the sign of the cross.

Carl surprises himself by repeating that sign, though he doesn't know why. Usually he simply tolerates going to Mass—letting his mind wander for the hour—but today...

Today he's riveted.

He watches carefully as Father Paulo begins reciting the Gloria.

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will..."

"Amen." Carl says with the rest when he has finished.

"This is the Word of the Lord." Father Paolo proclaims.

"Thanks be to God." The congregation agrees.

The priest holds a Bible high in the air, then lowers it.

"Today's Psalm is Chapter 19." He begins reading.

"'...Day to day pours forth Speech,

And night to night declares Knowledge.

There is no Speech, nor are there Words;

Their Voice is not heard;

Yet their Voice goes out through all the earth,

And their Words to the end of the world..."

As Father Paulo finishes and steps away from the platform, Carl feels a chill run all the way up and down his spine. He can't explain why.

"The Lord be with you," Father Paulo continues gravely.

"And also with you," the gathered congregation, including Carl, responds.

The priest's assistant stands up and walks to the pulpit to read.

"Our scripture today is from Daniel 10:10-13:

But then a hand touched my knee and roused me to my hands and knees. He said to me 'Daniel, greatly beloved, pay attention to the Words I am going to speak to you. Stand on your feet, for I have now been sent to you.' So while he was speaking this Word to me, I stood up trembling. He said to me, 'Do not fear, Daniel, for from the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your Words have been heard, and I have come because of your Words."

The priest returns from where he had stepped aside.

"Today we will talk about journeys—and about the signs that show we are ready for them. Daniel, called by the Archangel Michael, did not shy away from his holy Summons to serve God in His works. Neither can we."

Is it his imagination or did Father Paulo look Carl square in the eye on that last note?

"And to Abraham the Lord said 'I will bless you...so that you will be a blessing.'

And to Moses God said, 'I will be with you.'

And to Joshua God said, 'For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.'

And to Gideon God said, 'The Lord is with you.'

There is not a one of us that the Lord has forsaken. Our sins are many but our gifts are tenfold. If you give yourself over willingly to Jesus Christ, He will come to you.

Then it is written that the Lord almighty said, 'But get up and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you to Serve.'

Our summons to God's Service was given in our first breath! Even before you left the womb!

In your Lifetime you will have to make choices. And in that time, it is best to remember that the Lord our God is with you always. With Him you will make the correct decision and journey down the path that was set out for you."

Carl is stunned by the sermon. Surely, _surely_, his talk with Jacob couldn't have been a Divine calling...

..could it?

It's just coincidence... right?

Carl had never believed in coincidences.

"All rise!"

With the sermon over, everyone rose to sing "Alleluia."

Afterwards, with the congregation still standing, Father Paulo leads them through the Apostle's Creed:

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth..."

The organ sounds again, this time with a choir to accompany it. Something is sung in Latin. The ushers make their way down the rows and Carl reaches for his wallet, counting out ten dollars as a tithe.

During this time the altar boys started preparations for Communion.

Carl isn't sure he's ready for this.

The priest's assistant appears from the back of the church. He brings with him a white linen towel, a crystal bowl, and a carafe of holy water to the front of the altar. He proceeds to wash the priest's hands.

Once that ceremony was performed, the items were set aside so the Communion could begin.

"In observing Communion we are remembering Christ and all that He has done for us in his Life, Death, and Resurrection."

Father Paulo holds up a wafer.

The priest's assistant passes to him a silver goblet which the priest also proceeds to hold high in his other hand.

"When we observe Communion we show our participation in the body of Christ. His Life becomes our Life and we become members of each other. We are One!"

"The Body of Christ!" Father Paulo proclaims, placing the wafer in his mouth.

"The Blood of Christ!" He drinks from the goblet of wine.

"Let us pray with the words our Savior gave us:

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy Name..."

"Amen." The congregation says at the end.

Soon after the prayer a line starts to form as people leave the pews to receive Communion. And again Carl finds himself following the crowd.

When it is his turn to kneel at the altar, Carl does so, falling to his knees.

The priest approaches him.

"Take this bread which represents my body broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me."

The wafer tastes bland.

"This is my blood I've shed for you. Drink this in remembrance of me."

The wine is dry.

Both stir up many memories for him.

Carl sighs.

Dully he makes his way back to the pews and his family, feeling every labored step.

He half-listens to the announcements of what's happening in the community, but later can't recall anything Father Paulo had said.

"Go in peace."

Carl starts from his reverie. Mass is over.

The Procession walks out first, with Father Paulo remaining at the door to say goodbye to each member of his congregation.

Carl's family stands with the rest of the assembly to make their way out of the church but Carl stays behind, kneeling on the padded kneeler, fingers entwined, and forehead resting against them.

His eyes are shut tight but he can feel Cecelia's gaze on him.

"Carl..."

"I'll be fine," he reassures her, still not opening his eyes. "Just give me a minute."

He pictures her nodding and then leaving him to join the rest of his family.

When the church sounds empty, Carl looks up...

And his eyes catch the crucifix.

Closing his eyes again, he does something unheard of for him...

He prays.

_What do you want from me?_


	15. Chapter 14: Law of Interfaces

CHAPTER 14: LAW OF INTERFACES

"Power exists in the interfaces of things. These are the between places that are not entirely one thing or another."

(Whitcomb 15)

_Past—_Carl's POV

"Only what you're willing to give," a new voice fills the empty church.

Carl jumps. The voice is familiar. It belongs to...

"Jacob?"

Jacob emerges from the front of the church, walking past the rows of pews until he can sit down next to a still kneeling Carl.

There's silence between them as Carl moves into a more comfortable sitting position beside Jacob.

"What did you think of the sermon?" Jacob asked at last.

Carl squints at him. "That was your doing?"

Jacob shakes his head. "No, that was purely Divine Inspiration. I'm not from the Divine... well, not directly that is."

"So...that means you're not an angel or something, right?" Carl shifts slightly.

"Well, I am something..." Jacob corrects.

"What?"

Jacob shrugs. "I am what you made me to be."

"What?!" Carl looks at him askance.

Jacob smiles, but it never quite reaches his eyes.

"How about I tell you a story? But first you have to swear to me in return that you will tell no one anything in the short period you will remember it." Jacob's expression is unnerving as he stares Carl down.

"I promise," affirms Carl, who narrows his eyes back at Jacob. "And what do you mean by 'the short period I'll remember'?"

"Because if we don't act soon, this will be your reality."

Carl is, once again, confused.

"I'm not necessarily saying this is a bad Life that Tom created for you..." Jacob continues with a shrug.

"Who's Tom?" Carl cuts him off, finally demanding an answer. This was the secret that had preoccupied his thoughts ever since he had heard the name; a puzzle he couldn't find the pieces to, much less solve.

"Do you ever dream at night Carl?" Jacob asks, ignoring him.

Carl's lips purse into thin lines which threaten to turn into a frown.

"Everybody dreams," Carl snaps, "Now what about..."

"Do you _remember _your dreams though?"

This time Carl does frown as he contemplates Jacob's question.

"I used to I think... but lately? No, no I haven't remembered my dreams for a long time now." Carl blinks at this revelation.

Jacob doesn't bat an eye.

Carl looks again to the crucifix at the front of the church and whispers, "Tell me. Tell me everything."

Jacob glances to where Carl's attention is focused and replies, just as quietly, "Not everything, never everything."

"Then at least tell me _something_! Give me something to go by!"

"Are you ready to hear the story now?"

With effort Carl calms down and nods.

"Once upon a time there were two men: friends, brothers, comrades in every sense of the word. Only there was a secret between them...

"See, one Loved the other...

"...in an entirely different way."

Carl's eyes widen at the implication of the sin.

"There came a day when they were separated. The One Who Was Loved never knew the reason why but The One Who Loved did. And instead of trying to regain what was lost, the Lover gave the Beloved a gift..."

"What was it? Life? Love?"

"All those things, but the greatest was this: the ability—indeed the blessing—to Love another, unhampered by any feelings for the Lover. To live a Life without regret. And to do that required..."

Jacob shakes his head before continuing.

"I had mistakenly thought that the Lone One's intervening had been a curse. But the Lover obviously had other plans. The Lover knew the Lone Power would be jealous, never having such a gift Itself...

Can you imagine it, Carl? What it would mean for the Lone Power to have such a gift?

The ability to forgive Itself for creating Death after so long...

The ability to forget Its own Love for the One's Champion..."

"Wait, what?!" Carl interjects at this point.

Jacob shakes his head. "That's another story for another time."

"Then tell me this: what happens to the Lover?"

"What happens to the Lover? Why, the Lover ceases to be. No one knows of him. This world no longer needs him. So he simply vanishes."

"How?"

Jacob ignores the question.

"But there is something that neither the Lover nor the Beloved ever counted on. That is their Love manifested into physical form, granted by the One."

"And...?" Carl prods after a long silence.

"And I think that's it for today's lesson." Jacob stands up and looks at Carl. "You did feel it today, didn't you? The power here, there, everywhere..."

"Yeah, I felt it," Carl concedes. "Just tell me one thing. Was the Lover and the Beloved Tom and me?"

Jacob appears thoughtful and for a second Carl thinks he's going to answer. But then...

"I'll leave the rest to your imagination. For now at least."

Carl glances down at his hands.

When he looks up again, Jacob is gone.

"Think it over." Jacob's voice echoes throughout the empty church.

_Present_—Carl's POV

"Wow." Nita said, just the one word.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Carl agreed.

"Is it true...?" Nita asked uncertainly. Then something else occurred to her, "What about the Lone Power and the One's Champion? You can't really say that..."

"That they were Lovers?"

"Well, no one regrets his 'Fall' more than the One's Champion..." Carl began.

"And somehow they're always in a tug of war over human's lives. Or they used to be. And so they took a vested interest in both Carl's and mine." Tom finished.

"When He read my mind," Carl added in, "He saw something there that reminded Him. He remembered that Love, he's never forgotten it. And the thought that there could be another like Him, with a similar Love...

That's why he took 'pity' on me."

Carl inhaled, exhaled, and went on...

_Past—_Carl's POV

A few days later finds him pacing his room.

His wedding is fast approaching.

And he'd found this out the hard way...

A few days after Mass, Cecelia had approached him in their room.

"Carl," Cecelia had thrown her arms around him, asking half-teasingly, "When are you going to go out and buy a tuxedo?"

He had blinked, looking down at her in bewilderment.

"Whatever for?"

It was obviously the wrong thing to say.

Disbelief dawned in her eyes as she pulled away slowly. Shaking her head she backed up and, with a tiny sob, turned and fled the room.

A few minutes later, Carl's mother and father made an appearance.

They had to explain to him the situation. How he was betrothed. Did he remember proposing? Did he still want to marry her?

Carl knows the answer to the last question is "yes."

He knows he loves her, that isn't the problem. He's loved her ever since they were kids. They'd grown up together. They'd laughed and cried and made love. He has wonderful memories with her.

So yes, he does love her.

But there's one thing looming over their happiness...

What about Tom?

Tom who, to all intents and purposes, doesn't exist...

...never has.

And for what? What did Tom gain by disappearing?

The thought angered Carl.

Carl debated this thought and the accompanying anger as he stared at the ceiling of his room at night, unable to sleep with Cecelia draped over him.

What kind of guy was Tom? What kind of person could do something like that? To just vanish from the world to ensure the one he Loved most moved on?

And that the one he Loved most was Carl?

Carl is uncomfortable with that, to say the least... and not just because they were both men.

But he also has to find answers.

So where to begin?

Jacob hadn't given him any clear instructions; just "think it over."

If he's right—and he's fairly sure he was—Tom had Loved him.

Had Carl Loved him in return? And if so, in what way?

If it's how Carl suspects... his thoughts shy away from that.

He couldn't imagine it.

He couldn't...

Carl shakes his head, this is getting him nowhere ...or is it?

What's he deliberating exactly?

Whether or not to marry Cecelia? Whether or not he should save Tom if he could?

He finds he's not so certain of option A anymore. But he is sure about option B.

"What have you decided then Carl?"

Carl spins around.

Jacob is there, sitting on the corner of his bed.

"How did you get in here?" Carl demands, shaken.

Jacob just shakes his head sadly. "I thought you understood."

"Explain it to me," Carl growls.

"Since when have I ever done that? You must come to your own conclusions..."

"You're not human!" Carl complains, rubbing his eyes and collapsing on the bed next to Jacob, frustrated.

"Well, not entirely..."

Carl freezes.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Carl's voice is deceptively even.

"It means we're out of Time. Choose Carl."

"Choose? Choose what? Between Tom and Cecelia?"

Jacob nods, "Essentially, yes."

Then Jacob hesitates, "You have to know Carl... you have the _right_ to know... I don't care what He says..." Jacob stops himself again and clears his throat before going on. "I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but there is another reason that Tom did what he did..."

"You mean it wasn't just to stop me from getting hurt?"

Jacob shakes his head. "No Carl, it was _exactly_ to stop you from getting hurt... and another as well."

"Then who...?"

"Go to sleep, Carl." Jacob stands up. "I promise it all will become much clearer."

Carl wants to argue more but then sees the look in Jacob's eyes.

Carefully he positions himself better on the bed, resting his head on a pillow and closing his eyes.

"I'm not going to be able to just..." '_Fall asleep_,' is what Carl means to say but Jacob runs a finger over his eyes and it's as though a weight is placed there. It's impossible to open them.

Carl isn't scared though, he's determined.

He loves Cecelia but he has to save Tom...


	16. Chapter 15: Law of Words of Power

CHAPTER 15: LAW OF WORDS OF POWER

"There are words that are able to change the inner and/or outer realities of those using/perceiving them."

(Whitcomb 15-16)

_Past_—Carl's POV

Carl is floating in nothingness. Only this time, he's aware of it—very much so.

He doesn't think he's actually physically there. He can't _feel_ anything—any warmth or cold—no tactile sensation whatsoever.

So it must be a dream—except for the fact that he's cognizant of it.

It's the strangest experience he's ever had...

...yet vaguely familiar.

He starts to notice a speck of light in the distance. It's racing towards him and, as the light gets closer, it's dispelling the darkness surrounding him.

Carl panics—the darkness at least is familiar. This light is too intense. It's everywhere and everything.

There's no heat but it's scorching his very soul. He has the uncanny feeling that whatever is the source of that light can read the darkest regions of his spirit.

"And the lighter parts too."

If Carl had a body, he would have jumped.

_Jacob?_

Carl has no lips to speak of but the word echoes throughout the plane regardless.

_Jacob? Is that you? _His mind-voice repeats.

"Yes, Carl, it's me." The man in question materializes. "You're in a dream."

Carl refrains from saying he knows. Instead he asks...

_Why am I here? _

"You asked to see Tom."

_But I thought you said that was impossible, that he was gone...?_

Jacob steps into the light where Carl can see him. He's only an outline—a shadow in the light.

"I can't show you _him_, but I can show you what's left..."

And then to Carl's amazement, the outline of Jacob morphs into that of a black dog.

The dog trots ahead of him into the distance, then looks back.

And suddenly Carl is next to the dog—Jacob—and looking at something else: a Door.

And for all its magnificence this could be the Gateway to Heaven...

Almost immediately another dog comes into view. This one white.

It bares its teeth at Jacob.

_Jacob, what...?_

The hackles on both dogs rise as Jacob takes one step forward towards the Door.

_Jacob..._

Suddenly the white dog throws himself atop Jacob, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him down.

Jacob whimpers.

_STOP!_ Carl wants to yell, but it's no use—his mind voice no longer reverberates.

The fight is intense and seems to go on forever...

And that's when he notices that the Door is now unguarded.

A moment later and he's in front of it, examining the handle on which words are written. He reads them carefully, each word seemingly echoing into the Void:

_**I shall not forget against Eternity...**_

_**I shall not lose to any God...**_

_**I shall not be overcome by Fate... **_

He can still hear the dogfight behind him but it's become something of a white noise. Carl's entranced.

_**I shall not forget...**_

Before he can get any further, however, the white dog breaks free. Though Carl has no body to speak of, the dog takes a running leap toward his essence...

And then Carl's blinded—blinded by images of a would-be past. All at once, he's living through new eyes in a different Lifetime.

This Life is centered upon one man... Tom.

_**Please accept me...**_

Suddenly he is Tom and remembering the sound of Carl's laughter over something foolish he had done. He relives this and wonders at what he—Tom—feels when he hears it: emotion that is Desire embodied yet not just for the physical but for something more, something he believes Carl can never give. The longing is painful but Tom revels in it.

Then they're stretched out in the sun together, Tom reading a book and Carl dozing off next to him. Tom glances down at the wind ruffling Carl's hair and Tom—Carl—smiles, feeling warmth from more than the hot weather, being burned by more than the sun's rays.

He feels...

_**Please accept who I was...**_

It's urgent this time. Tom waits in the shadows, more afraid than ever before. Carl is out there and unsuspecting, doesn't know yet... Tom makes his move, heart thundering in his chest. What would happen if he lost Carl? Tom almost feels like the thought alone could kill him.

And more and more memories flash through him—each one more intense than the last—taking a Lifetime—a few seconds—until he zeroes in on one in particular.

God, what he wouldn't give to make this right. Anthony, dead in Carl's arms, broke Tom's heart to pieces. To see Carl in so much pain, and be unable to do anything about it was... unbearable... physically, mentally, emotionally.

Tom couldn't accept this fate.

_**I have a reason and I shall change the world in exchange for...**_

Carl pulls back, mind reeling. He doesn't wake up but it's close.

_"I'm not supposed to be saying this, but there is another reason that Tom did what he did..." _ Jacob had warned.

It wasn't just another reason, it was another _Life_.

His brother, Anthony's Life.

If he saves Tom, which he's not sure he can, what then would happen to Anthony?

"I don't know."

Jacob comes back into view, a human-shadow again.

"I don't know if you can save one of them or both of them or none of them... I don't even know if you can save yourself should you walk through that Door."

_What do you...?_

"That dog was Tom's memories of you, the strength of his will to protect you," Jacob looks sadly at the now clear entrance to the Doorway. "Trying to keep you from coming this far, he locked them away for you. Even if he could no longer exist, they were powerful enough to remain and keep you away. He never wanted you to have to make this choice."

Cecelia, Anthony, _and _Tom, they were all important people in his Life.

"There's one other thing you should know," again, Jacob wavers. "This isn't just about you four. Not anymore."

_Then what is it about?! _Carl wants to scream. _What kind of game are you Powers playing at! _

"There is no game, there are no judges, no Powers, and _no rules_."

Carl considers that until he realizes just exactly what Jacob is implying...

_So there's nothing saying I can't save them all! If there are no rules..._

"No Carl, nothing except reality."

_What is that supposed to mean?_

"It means just what I said; you'll have to circumvent reality."

_ How do I do that? _Carl is growing more and more suspicious about where this is leading to, but also more and more desperate.

"Read the rest of the Oath on the handle."

Carl hesitates, _is this the same Oath Tom took?_

"No," Jacob says. "This one you're creating..."

_But how?_

He looks to where Jacob is motioning, down at the handle, and there are indeed words written there again—words that weren't there before...

Words written by his soul.

_**To you, who gave me the future...**_

_**To you, who have always protected me...**_

_**To you, whose courage leads the way home...**_

_**For you I will never give up...**_

The words ring true. Still he wavers. He has to think...

Anthony, Cecelia, and Tom.

What will happen to them? The way things are is that Anthony and Cecelia are both safe and sound... while Tom has been denied a chance at Life.

...a chance he willingly gave up.

No, that was unacceptable. _"Circumvent reality,"_ Jacob had said. If Tom could do it, so could Carl.

"And what then?" Jacob breaks through his reverie. "Tom will undoubtedly come after you again. When will it end?"

_Who are you? _Carl's mind-voice all but growls. _What are you?_

Jacob's voice is calm and even when he speaks, "I told you before: I am what you made me to be—what you _needed_ me to be."

_What is that supposed to mean?_

Jacob pauses, then, "It means that this is not the first time you have stood before this Door."


	17. Chapter 16: Law of Magical Names

CHAPTER 16: LAW OF MAGICAL NAMES

"To know the true name of a person, place, or thing is to have complete control over it." (Whitcomb 16)

_Past—_Carl's POV

Realization dawns on Carl.

_How long? _Carl's mind voice stammers. _How long has this been going on?_

"Ages." Jacob shrugs, "But this place doesn't deal with Time. Time here doesn't count."

_But how many times...? How many Lives?!_

Jacob raises a hand. "Too many," he answers, hesitates, then continues, "Don't you think it's time that _both_ of you went home?"

_Home... _Carl's voice fills with longing, but for what he's not sure anymore.

_What is home? _ He asks at last.

"I've heard the humans say that 'home' is where the Heart is..." is Jacob's answer.

Carl knew what he meant. If he knew where his Heart rested, he'd know he was home. If he knew his Heart he'd know where to go, where to be. Where he _belonged_.

_My Heart… _

It was time for Carl to ask that burning question... _do I Love Tom?_

Jacob doesn't miss a beat. "I would have thought that obvious."

Carl might have blushed if he could have. _That's not an answer!_

"Unfortunately it's the only one I can give you." Jacob sighs. "As with so much I cannot interfere. Whether you Love him or not is your choice and yours alone."

Carl is silent for a moment.

_...does he Love me?_

"I cannot say," is Jacob's reticent answer. The way he says it is answer in itself though. He states it as though it's the most well-known fact in the universe. Even more so than 'the sky is blue.'

Jacob sighs, "Carl, don't you understand what's happening here? What's been happening? What will happen again if you don't change it?"

_Explain it to me Jacob... Why him? Why me?_

"You mean you think the Universe chose you two specifically?"

Carl is silent.

Jacob shakes his head. "Think again. It doesn't work that way. _You_ have to be the change..."

Carl notices he lingers on the last word a second too long.

_Jacob?_ Carl asks uncertainly.

"I am going to do something I've never done before. That defies my very purpose of Being..."

_What's that? _

"I'm going to tell you the Truth."

There's a pause, and Carl worries when Jacob doesn't immediately offer anything forthcoming.

_Why is this so hard? _

"Because of what I am... what you made me to be... After all, once you make the Pact I'm supposed to just..." Jacob hesitates and looks toward the Door. "I am the guardian of that Door. A Door created by..."

Jacob stops. "I can't remember which one of you." He seems perturbed by this.

_That's fine, _Carl urges, _Go on..._

"You're right, it doesn't matter. That Door is a gateway to the Dreamscape. Does that mean anything to you?"

_No... should it?_

"That's odd..." Jacob's voice finally expresses emotion, one of surprise. "Normally by now you would have your memories back."

_Memories of what? _

"Could it be you don't actually want this?" Jacob mutters to himself, ignoring Carl for the moment.

_Enough! Jacob, what is going on?! _Carl mentally shouts.

"I believe, if I should hazard a guess, that perhaps this time the world has gotten to you." Jacob speaks evenly, ignoring the tense atmosphere that now surrounds them.

"You two have always had to endure hardships together... maybe this was just one time too many. Or is it possible it just wasn't meant to be after all...?"

Carl is getting tired of the runarounds, _what do you mean?! _His mind voice snaps and he reels as it booms throughout the plane, louder than ever.

Jacob shrugs, obviously still aware of something Carl isn't.

"Why don't you just wake up now?" Jacob asks after another uneasy pause. "You'll have a nice family and a happy Life, I can See it all."

Carl's unnerved but gathers himself quickly.

_I told you, I'm not leaving without Tom!_

"Are you certain? You're fading from the world quickly. This is your last chance at a normal life, be sure about this or Tom's Gift will have been in vain."

_I'm sure. _Carl says with growing confidence, though where this sudden onset of courage comes from he doesn't know.

"You've lived a Life Carl, so naturally a Death has to follow. Are you positive this is what you want?"

Carl thought about it. He thought of Cecelia and Anthony and all the rest who would suffer from his passing. He thought of their pain and their sorrow.

But then he thought of Tom and...

_Yes._

Jacob nods.

"You will have a chance to say goodbye to your family. That is the only mercy I can give you. Twenty-four hours from now you will die. I will see you then, Carl."

_Wait, what...?_

With that Carl wakes up, opening his eyes to meet Cecelia's worried gaze.

"We... we should go to the doctor's. " She said, hands cradling his face. "I... I couldn't wake you!" A tear escapes and runs down her face as she clings to him.

"I don't know what I would do without you..." She cried and Carl stiffens as the words hit him hard. She saw him as a part of her life that was better than all the rest. The part that made the rest bearable. That was a form of love right there.

But what was the ultimate form? And why did it involve so much sacrifice?

"Let's go." Carl whispers, entwining his fingers with hers and wiping away the tears from her pretty face. A face he had kissed a thousand times over and had always wanted to kiss a thousand times more. Every time he saw her he wanted to kiss her.

He truly did love her.

When she made to get off him Carl caught her once more and pressed his lips against hers, pulling back to whisper. "Let's go to Coney Island. To the Statue of Liberty. To Ellis Island. To Central Park. Anywhere we can make a memory together. And not just us, let's bring the boys and my parents along. Let's make the best of today." _Because that's all I really have..._

And so they did.


	18. Chapter 17: Law of Labeling

CHAPTER 17: LAW OF LABELING

"People tend to believe that they understand something when they have a name for it." (Whitcomb 16)

_Past—_Carl's POV

It's fifteen minutes before the time Carl's going to die and he has questions.

Lots of them.

What did it feel like to die? Would it hurt? Was it a comfort or a curse to know that there was some form of an afterlife? What'll happen once he gets there?

Will there be an afterlife for him?

Ten minutes.

He'd said goodbye to his family, somewhat. He told them all that he loved them and hugged and kissed everybody. Then he came up here and locked the door. He'll have to do his best not to cry out, come what may.

Five minutes.

He spends the last minutes of his life pacing the floor and deliberating. Not exactly what he expected of himself.

A tap at the window startles him. He looks to see a macaw perched on the window sill. He knows this is the same macaw that guided him to Jacob in the first place.

Hesitantly he opens the window and lets her in.

"I don't know what's going to happen to me," he confesses to the bird. "But please, whatever does, look after my family."

She tilts her head to one side, as though considering his proposal, then nods.

For the first time in a long time, Carl feels at ease.

He looks to the clock...

It's time.

Carl lays back on his bed, folding his arms over his chest. He's surprised, though maybe he shouldn't be, when the macaw settles down next to him.

He strokes the bird's soft, warm feathers, not even noticing the room getting colder or fading away. Instead he focuses on the memories he made today...

Walking on the boardwalk and holding hands with Cecelia.

Watching Raymond, Edmond, and Anthony splash and play in the ocean.

Dragging the kids around the historic sites of NYC and taking pictures of them making funny faces.

All this and more... he had more memories than that.

He sighs. It's getting harder to breathe.

Is this what he wants?

Is he having second thoughts?

Suddenly it becomes apparent, though he doesn't know how, that all he has to do is say "no."

That'd be enough for him to stay here, in this life.

He opened his mouth to say it—and almost does—but then he remembers why he's doing this in the first place: Tom.

Tom...

Tom, who never had the chance to make memories like Carl had.

Tom, who, if Carl doesn't do something soon, will be less than a memory himself.

It's unfair.

It's unfair that he has to do this, has to decide the fates of all involved.

He starts to curse Tom for putting him in this position, hating him and feeling guilty about it—because how can you Love someone what you hate them?—but then stops short.

If what Jacob says is true, he's done this to Tom at some point in time as well.

Many times in fact.

_How long will this go on?_

The thought has so much resonance that he isn't sure it belonged to him alone.

_Present_—Nita's POV

A small sob interrupted the story and broke the intensity.

"Nita, you okay?" Tom asked concerned, finding and handing her a Kleenex.

"It's not fair!" she sniffled, wiping her eyes and finding her hands in her lap to be far more interesting than usual.

She didn't dare look up.

She was afraid to—afraid to face these men who had gone through such hardships. Afraid they'd see her pity. Afraid they'd see her sorrow.

"Nita..." Tom began gently, "Would you like to stop?"

"No!" She all but shouted, glancing up accidentally.

She met Tom's gaze and couldn't turn away.

Tom's expression was one of understanding and compassion.

Why had she expected anything else?

Nita suddenly remembered every encounter she'd ever had with the Senior. How much he made her smile, encouraged her, gently rebuked her, how he was a pillar of strength when her mom...

She couldn't imagine a world without him.

Yet there had been one.

And that it was up to Carl to make that choice...

She wanted to cry even harder but instead, taking a deep breath to calm herself, she managed a watery smile for the older men in the room.

"Please," she beseeched them as intelligibly as possible. "What happens next? I have to know now... I need to know what happened!"

Carl cleared his throat, sounding hoarse when he did talk.

"Very well..." he rasped, and began anew.

_Past—_Carl's POV

In the beginning, dying isn't as horrible as Carl feared it would be.

It was an awful experience, yes, but it was in fact relatively painless.

Initially he just loses feeling in his toes; can no longer wiggle them. Then a tingling sensation starts within his feet and spreads so they freeze up too. Gradually his legs come to feel like lead. It seems like something is taking over his body, working its way up little by little from the base of his spine.

Finally, he can no longer feel his lower body at all.

Carl admits it then, he's scared...

Whatever Death is, he swears he feels its chill devouring his body.

Soon, he'll be completely paralyzed.

And therefore at the mercy of the man who has appeared in his room without warning.

If It it's even a man at all...

Fiery red hair adorns his head. Eyes shine like black opals. And on his lips plays a smirk, one of triumph.

The macaw starts hissing.

"Relax Carl, you're safe," the stranger says, ignoring the bird, "I'm going to take good care of you... After all I _am_ a doctor."

And instinctively, Carl knows that every word He speaks is a lie.

His fingertips start prickling like stabs from a needle.

Carl wants to cry out but is immediately reminded of Tom and how it's possible that one word could keep him in this reality.

So he just settles with glaring defiantly.

The Not-Man shakes His head, smirk firmly in place.

"Ah Carl, why didn't you heed my warning? Whatever am I going to do with you now?"

The smirk turns upwards into itself then twists into a malevolent grin.

"I haven't decided yet actually. You see, death is my territory. You may have eluded me once but you're mine now."

Carl swallows hard, the motion painful against his raw throat.

_ Jacob, help me!_

And with that mental plea, the macaw takes flight.

She flies with a speed and precision that Carl didn't know any animal possessed: she pecks at the eyes, pulls out great chunks of His hair, and leaves long scrapes down His arms with her talons.

The way she fights, Carl could have sworn her a phoenix instead of an ordinary house pet...

But then again, had this remarkable macaw ever been just any bird?

Somehow Carl doubts it.

He doesn't know what to do. He's trapped there, unable to do anything more than watch the battle unfold. The macaw seems to be winning but Carl knows it's only a matter of time before the tables turn. A bird, even one as brilliant as she, cannot beat a human...

...or whatever He is.

_Jacob, do something, please! _Carl pleads.

_Lie back down, Carl, _comes Jacob's response.

Or at least he thinks it's Jacob. It's getting harder and harder to distinguish between Jacob's voice and his own inner thoughts.

Still, he doesn't have the time to dwell on what that means.

_Good Carl, just close your eyes and try to remember that this won't last forever._

_Jacob...what?!_

Powerless, that's Carl. He has no choice then.

Well, that isn't entirely correct...

But is giving up on Tom even a possibility anymore?

Had it ever been?

_Ok..._

So he did as he was told...

And instantly regretted it.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain that seems to go on forever.

There are no words to describe the agony he's in. And even if there are, he isn't aware of them. He couldn't be. He has lost his mind to the suffering...

But somehow, miraculously, he doesn't cry out.

Where that strength comes from he isn't sure.

There seems to be no end to the torment. Carl tries to recall the words of Jacob, that this all will pass, but he's not so sure of them anymore.

Every cell in his body screams. The pain encompassed his whole world

Then as suddenly as the pain peaked, it stopped.

Every organ stilled.

Except for one...

His heart.

There's a roaring sound and he feels a falling sensation as he hears the last beats of his heart slow down and eventually die off.

He barely hears the enraged scream.

There's darkness consuming him and he's floating within it forever. Then white light pierces the black, racing towards him, reaching out and wrapping around him, surrounding him like the comfort of a warm blanket. His soul, or whatever is left of him, surrenders to that light.


	19. Chapter 18: Law of Information Packing

CHAPTER 18: LAW OF INFORMATION PACKING

"The more information contained in a symbol, the more vague it becomes." (Whitcomb 16) 

_Past—_Carl's POV

"Carl..."

After an eternity he heard someone call out his name.

But he wasn't ready he to leave the peace he felt or the silence he drifted in.

"Carl..."

Ignorance was bliss. He didn't want to know who called his name. He was tired. He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to _be_.

"Carl..."

Carl wanted to cry out for the voice to stop. To leave him alone. To let his soul rest.

"If that's what you wish, Carl..."

Yes that's what he wanted! Why would he go back to hardship and pain and...

"But what about..."

_Tom!_ The thought catches him off guard and is enough to jolt him back to consciousness.

He opens his eyes...

And for a moment thinks he's blind.

But instead of darkness, all he sees is Light.

Until he turns around...

There's a shadow approaching him, blurry at first but becoming sharper with each step.

As it gets closer the features became visible and familiar...

"Jacob?"

Jacob-sandy haired and brown eyed, dressed in surfer shorts and a tee-finally comes into focus.

"Congratulations Carl, once again you have eluded Death." Jacob shakes his head. "Though you did have me worried—for a moment there, I thought you had given up."

"I almost did," Carl realizes. "But..."

"But Tom needs you," Jacob finishes for him.

There's a time where neither of them say anything. Then Jacob continues, "This Universe has always underestimated you two. Let's see if you can do it again... or rather, for the last time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Carl demands, shaken by his recent Ordeal.

"It's time you learned that..."

"Wait," Carl breaks in, staring at Jacob in disbelief. "That's all? I just died and left behind a family who are probably grieving over me this very second! Am I supposed to forget? Pretend that didn't happen?"

Jacob's expression is neutral. "The only way to cheat Death, Carl, is to die." Then he sighs. "You made a choice. You had your chance to stay in that world but you refused. Are you having second thoughts? I hope not. I thought you understood, there's no turning back."

Carl forces himself to calm down.

"What do I have to do?" he asks finally, after his own personal struggle is over.

"Regain your memories," Jacob replies simply. "Over ten thousand years of history..."

"Ten thousand years!" Carl exclaims. "That'll take forever!"

Jacob gives him a look. "What do you think we have?"

"But... but..."

"Relax Carl," Jacob breaks through. "Time is different here. This won't be easy but it _is_ doable. And after that..."

Jacob shakes his head. "First, you need to remember why saving Tom is so important to you."

Carl falls silent.

There has to be a reason, he thinks.

Is it... love? Or rather Love?

Is this what Love is?

Or is there more to it than that?

What else is there, besides Love? What else matters?

"Come, let's find out..." And the expression on Jacob's face is kinder than any Carl had seen so far.

Carl reaches for Jacob and is surprised—and more than a little disoriented—when he falls through him instead.

His confusion must have shown on his face because Jacob just shakes his head again.

"Consider us ghosts, Carl. You have left behind your mortal shell. And with it you have broken every tie to that realm as well. It's time to move on."

"But how can we revisit the past between Tom and me?" Carl asks, a bit uneasy.

"Who says we're limiting our search to the past?" Jacob says lightly.

Carl is more lost than ever. "What?! But... the future... how?"

"I already told you that Time here is different. In fact, as far as we're concerned, it's nonexistent."

"So what do we have to do?" Carl blinks, it sounds different from the first time he said it...

"Yes, there is a 'we.' I won't make you do this alone. That's what I'm here for. That's my reason for existence."

"But how did you..."

"...come to be?" Jacob finishes for him.

He looks thoughtful for a moment. Then... "_Both_ you and Tom have been here at one time or another...more than that actually. Much more. And it shouldn't be possible that you are here at all, Carl."

Jacob sighs after that, not looking at Carl for a moment. But when he finally glances up, he meets Carl's eyes with an expression Carl can't place. "Humans are not allowed here, cannot survive here—that's an understatement actually—even you, Carl, will fade away forever if you let go. That's why I was created—a being that _could_ survive here. You made me for this purpose."

"But...how?" Carl asks incredulously.

Jacob seems thoughtful, as if he himself doesn't know the answer. "I'm not sure who started it," he begins slowly. "If it was Tom or you or both—just like I cannot pinpoint the beginning of time—all I remember is this: I was needed. And that Will took on a Life of Its own..."

Jacob clears his throat. "With me at your side you have access to any timeline or dimension. Any event—past, present, or future—is within reach."

He shakes his head. "But that's enough for now. Now we have work to do..."

"I thought you said we had all of Time," Carl points out.

Jacob smiles indulgently, "All the same, let's get started. Shall we?"

Carl nods once slowly, then again with more enthusiasm. "All right, how do we save Tom?"

"We need to find out where in Time his essence currently resides." Jacob states simply.

Carl blinks. "Excuse me?"

"Well, that's not quite accurate. We need to find where _most_ of his essence is... You see," Jacob continues, "We all exist at the same 'Time,' _all of the Time_, because that's all there is. The One is everything and everything is the One. And we are most certainly part of the One. Do you understand?"

Carl shakes his head, "no."

Jacob seems to consider this for a moment, then, "Ok... how about we focus in on Time itself. First, let's think of Time as a rope. A rope is made up of many different and smaller strands, am I correct?"

Carl nods, "So far..."

"Okay, well, if each person is a string, then think of a twist or a knot that holds the rope together as an interaction between two or more people. Now, the bigger the knots are, the more people involved and the stronger the rope is bound together. So is life. It could be a sad or happy event, but ultimately it always brings the strands— the people—closer to unity."

Carl blinks, "But what does this have to do with me and Tom?"

"You two seem to intertwine together more often than many." Jacob shrugs, "I'm not sure if this is by divine design or if you're both just stubborn."

Carl smiles a bit at that.

"Anyway," Jacob resumes, "Continuing with the rope analogy, this cosmic rope of humanity has no start and no finish. It only has knots. So how can we look into the future? Simply climb up the rope. And for the past, climb back down. Look for the knots between you and Tom. Where the knot is the biggest, that's where Tom will be."

"To tell you the truth," Carl confesses slowly, "I was never very good at climbing ropes."

Jacob nods indulgently. "Then it's a good thing we're not climbing, we're creating. Here," And in his hands appears a strand of rope, which only has one knot that he Carl can tell... and that's in the middle.

"Take this." Jacob holds out the coil of rope to Carl.

Carl hesitates at first, but one look from Jacob and he hastily complies.

The moment the rope touches his hand, however, it unravels. Not only that, there's... sensation.

He can _feel_ it.

"Jacob what's happening?" Carl nearly drops it in shock.

But Jacob's hands appear at the last moment and, even though he is unable to touch him, the gesture of the motion itself is enough to steady Carl.

"Ever heard of the 'red string of fate' before?" Jacob asks Carl lightly, taking a step back.

Carl, still holding the remaining threads carefully, shakes his head, "No."

"It's a concept similar to 'soul mates.' You two are divinely connected by this thread. It may twist or pull but will never snap or break... unless you will it to."

Jacob's voice drops and his entire demeanor changes as he holds onto that last line.

Taking a deep breath, he begins anew. "This is your second chance to end this here and now. Should you desire to be free of Tom, we have the means of cutting your tie."

He waves his hand and a pair of scissors materialize.

No!" Carl cries and takes a step back, bodily protecting those precious strings, though he still doesn't understand just why Tom is so important to him.

Carl doesn't understand how Tom Loves him. Or if he Loves Tom in return. Or if he even can Love Tom _in that way._

Distantly he hears Jacob sigh in relief and when Carl looks up, the scissors are gone.

"Thank goodness," Jacob says. He eyes Carl critically. "You'll have three chances to renounce yours and Tom's fate. You've already conquered two but be wary, the third is a temptation much harder to resist."

Carl nods from where he's still huddled around the cords.

"So what do we have to do?" he asks again.

"Hold the knot." Jacob instructs. "And release the rest of it."

Carl does as he's told.

"Now," Jacob rubs his hands together and begins. "You are going to twist the two strands of the string together on either side of the existing knot, then tie a knot with them. Whenever you make a knot it will transport your essence into a time when you and Tom coexisted."

"But _how_ will I find him? How will I know it's him?" Carl asks hastily, flummoxed. He does as he's told though and after he finishes the first knot, he feels reality shift and chane around him.

"You'll know, I have faith..." Jacob starts to walk away from Carl. But then he stops and looks back at him, face mysteriously blank. "Oh, and one last thing. You'll need help. So I encourage you to make a stop along the way."

"Wha—" Carl tries, but those were Jacob's parting words. He's already gone.

Then the Light's extinguished and Carl's plunged back into the darkness.


	20. Chapter 19: Law of Pattern

CHAPTER 19: LAW OF PATTERN

"Some people have defined Life as negative entropy because it evolves; i.e. develops greater and greater complexities of pattern."

(Whitcomb 17) 

_Past_—Carl's POV

_May 20__th__, 1985_

Carl was jerked out of his reverie by a painful bite on the ear.

"Oww!" He exclaimed, rubbing at his hurt ear gingerly. He opened his eyes... then shut them immediately against the too-bright-light of day.

"Wha? What's going on?!" He finally asked dazedly after a few minutes of sitting there numbly. The words came out scratchy, his mouth and throat dry.

Next he tried sitting up...

That didn't work out as planned either.

Head spinning, he felt faint and fell back against the couch. Even thinking about moving anymore made him ill. There was also a buzzing in his ears and it was growing louder.

But then the thought of Tom, once again, snapped him back to reality and slowly—not gracefully—he rose up off the dent he'd made on the couch.

His knees buckled and he shook like a leaf when he stood but, after a minute or so, he regained his bearings and was back steady on his feet, ready for...

Ready for...

What exactly?

He didn't know.

He didn't know.

But had he ever known in the first place?

For a moment he didn't even know who he really was. He was having a hard time reconciling the memories he had just regained and separating them from who he was now.

He was different somehow. Recollecting those memories from the dream, replacing the ones where he and Tom met in college, were roommates, and just stayed roommates—those were fading fast.

No, now everything between him and Tom was much closer, much more... intimate.

Tom had known this, had known _about_ this, all along.

Why hadn't he said anything?!

It took Carl a few more minutes to realize that somebody else was in the room with him.

He stiffened.

At first he sensed rather than witnessed the intruder.

But when he whirled around he saw...

He saw...

Himself.

His younger self.

The self he'd been dreaming of...

...was he still in the dream then?

"What is real?!" He found himself demanding aloud, not expecting an answer.

He didn't know, he sincerely didn't know anymore, which memories were true and which were false or if...

"They're all real." Peach spoke up, squawking and waving her wings as she alighted on his shoulder.

"You're... you're that bird!" His younger self stammered, more than a little afraid Carl surmised.

"Her name is Machu Picchu," Carl found himself responding automatically. "But we call her 'Peach.'"

"We?" The other Carl asked tentatively.

"Tom and I..." Carl let slip without thinking.

His younger self's eyes widened to an impossible extent. "So he was here? Tom was here too?! His essence must be... I don't know precisely where yet but _you must be_ the memories I have to gain..." He trailed off after catching himself saying all that aloud.

For a long time he and his younger self just stared at each other, neither knowing what to do next.

"It's time." Peach cleared her throat, breaking the silence.

And those words were enough to snap the two Carls back to attention.

"Time for what?" His younger self asked, still hopelessly confused. "I mean Tom _was_ here, wasn't he?"

"What do we have to do?" Carl demanded, perhaps too harshly, of the macaw on his shoulder.

Peach looked at him incredulously. "What do you _think_? Open the door!"

"What door?" Both Carls asked simultaneously.

If Peach were human she'd be rolling her, Carl suspected.

Instead she just let out an impatient huff, giving each of them withering looks, before bobbing her head in a direction behind them.

"_That_ door," she squawked impatiently.

There was a pause in which both Carls turned to look at one another again, then the door.

It was a door alright—as solid gold in color as it was in make—and it was hovering a foot off the ground in the middle of the room.

And with that the two Carls charged towards it in synchronization and without hesitation.

But when they reached the door there was a problem.

For unlike the times before, there was no inscription on the handle.

And what's more, it wouldn't open.

"Wha—?" They both turned simultaneously to confront the parrot on Carl's shoulder.

"It's not obvious?" She said and, not for the first time, Carl wanted to knock the moodiness right out the bird.

He barely restrained himself.

"Tell us, oh Enlightened One..." he implored instead.

Just for that, Peach began preening her feathers in an oblivious manner.

"Peach..." Carl warned, now showing his fist.

Peach cowered.

"Don't be so hard on her." His younger self said, extending his arm. Peach hopped onto in gratefully.

"You don't know her as well as I do." Carl retorted.

"I will one day... hopefully." Younger Carl replied quietly.

Neither one mentioned that he might not get the chance...

That there may or may not be a tomorrow.

It was still up in the air.

Carl eyed the door. Literally.

"Okay," Carl said, clearing his throat. His voice had cracked again, but this time for a different reason... and he refused to acknowledge why.

His younger self rubbed at his eyes quickly, trying to be inconspicuous about it as well.

"What do we do now Peach?" Carl asked at last when he was sure he could complete a coherent sentence.

"Braw, answer the question!"

"The question," Carl ruminated for a moment and then remembered when Tom first vanished...

"_Where is Tom?"_

_ "Ask the question!"_

_"How do I find him?"_

_ "Ask the question!" _

_"What do I have to do?"_

_ "Ask the question!"_

"The question? What is the question? What's the answer?"

The questions floored him and brought Carl back to reality with a chill up and down his spine. Eerily, the words that ghosted his own were not his anymore, but his younger self's.

"The answer," Carl explained to this other version of himself, "is me... or rather us. The question is this: 'Tom, what did you do? Why did you do it?'"

"Us," younger Carl pondered and frowned. "But doesn't that only answer part of the question? I mean, the second part makes sense, he did it for me... us." And his voice wavered on the last bit, but he cleared his throat and began anew.

"What did he do?" Younger Carl finished softly.

Carl thought back to all he'd seen in the last who knows how long.

And even now he still couldn't explain it.

"What's the answer to that Peach?" Carl demanded of the bird.

The look she gave him was no longer sardonic; instead it was saddened and full of pity.

"Open the door," she rasped in a most un-birdlike manner, using full commandments. "It'll take you to Tom."

"But how can we open it?" Carl's younger self spoke up again in frustration. "There are no words; there is no Oath to take..."

"You must make up your own."

Both Carls were startled by this, looking at Peach then at each other, in case they'd misheard.

"Tom is the poet." Carl protested weakly. "He's the writer, not me..."

"You'd be surprised," Peach cut him off. "Inspiration comes to everyone in its own way."

Carl looked down, unable to meet her gaze any longer. He was most likely the exception...

There was silence and, when Carl looked up again, he found the two of them watching him.

Carl thought hard, taking it all in stride, before relenting.

"How do we start?"

"Well, what would you say to Tom if he were here?" Peach finished with her should-be-obvious air.

"But—"

"You're stalling."

And Peach was right, Carl decided. Now was the time for action, not debating on whether or not to use rhyme or haiku in making their Oath.

"Alright," he faced his younger self. "We'll do this line by line and hope for the best. I'll start..." Carl turned to the door, closed his eyes, and after some thought, spoke in a loud, clear voice:

_**From the moment you disappeared,**_

_**Was when my journey to find you started...**_

His younger self nodded, affirming its truth, and then began with:

_**We said goodbye but it was not the end...**_

Carl gulped at the words before adding in his part:

_**No matter how far away you are,**_

_**Your place will always be here...**_

He blinked in surprise, not too bad so far. Though he had no idea where all this was coming from...

_**I have found the one I want to protect...**_

Younger Carl said with conviction.

_**We'll be brought together by fate many times over...**_

Carl opened his misty eyes—not remembering when he closed them—to see his younger self fighting off tears. He saw Peach nuzzling him, trying to provide a modicum of comfort. He felt like crying himself, he was so overwhelmed with the emotions the words aroused, but he dared not, not until the spell was over. He only hoped his younger self would last that long...

His younger self cleared his throat roughly before going on:

_**Just being able to be in the same time with you, I'd...**_

Carl himself choked at that. It was true. If only Tom would return, he'd...

He'd...

...what would he do?

Carl shook himself out of it. They were close to losing themselves in the Oath and that was very dangerous.

It was time to end this before anything got out of hand. He understood now that the Oath was purely intended to ready them for what lay ahead. To well up the emotions that was required to do any Spell in Wizardry. To bring to face and confirm the Purpose that was theirs alone.

_**I will travel to the eternal place, the never-ending dream...**_

Carl blinked. So that's where they were going. He finally knew that. That's where he had been and where Tom still was.

It wasn't Timeheart though.

No, Timeheart was a place of beginnings and endings and reincarnations—Reality working through the One's Plan, always moving, always fluid, always happening.

The place where he had been, the place where they would find Tom—though endless as well—was stuck in one place over all Time.

_**In my dream we were together...**_

His younger self was looking at him expectantly now. Letting him have the last say. Letting him know that his Tom meant as much to him as Tom meant to Carl.

He was ready.

Carl acknowledged that with a nod. And then, after a deep breath, he searched for the words in his soul...

_**From this dream,**_

_**I will take you away,**_

_**Because...**_

_Because..._

For a moment Carl feared his hesitation had interrupted the spell, but the poignant pause must have conveyed his emotions more than words could, and with a slight creak the door into the Void opened.

Love was never mentioned in the Oath, but it was felt.


	21. Chapter 20: Law of Intelligence

CHAPTER 20: LAW OF INTELLIGENCE

"A pattern more complex than ourselves could be said to be more intelligent when treated as an entity."

(Whitcomb 17) 

_Past—_Carl's POV

The two Carls nearly tripped over one another as once again they scrambled for the door.

"Wait!" Peach cried. They both froze and looked back at her. "You'll need a guide or two..." And at those words there was a bark and when they turned again to the door Carl saw his two sheepdogs, Annie and Monty, waiting for them on the other side.

His younger self got there first but Carl wasn't too far behind. He stood in the doorway for a moment's hesitation; looking back at all he was leaving. Including Peach. He motioned to the bird to come, holding out his arm. But Peach shook her head sadly.

"Bring him home," was all she said. And as soon as he took a step back into the darkness, the door slammed shut and she disappeared from sight... and maybe vanished altogether.

_Past—_Carl's POV

It was... interesting... being in the darkness again.

He had so many questions.

The chief of all being...

Where was it all coming from?

"That's the question of the ages."

Carl spun around, surprised though he shouldn't be.

"Jacob!" His voice echoed his younger self's. But Jacob's attention was fastened on the older Carl.

"Hello, Carl. I don't believe we've met." Jacob bowed to him.

Carl took a step back, getting nowhere.

Annie rubbed against him. With a start he realized he'd forgotten about her and Monty.

"Why the dogs?" Younger Carl asked, puzzled, as he scratched Monty.

"These dogs," Jacob explained with a patient air, "are your guides and guardians."

"I don't follow." Carl admitted, with his younger self nodding in agreement.

"Do you remember when I first came to you Carl? What guise I was in?" he addressed the younger Carl this time.

"A dog..." Younger Carl answered slowly.

"Exactly," Jacob said, nodding.

"But why...?"

Jacob raised a hand, "Let me finish please."

Both Carls waited impatiently.

"Welcome to the Void." Jacob swept his arms out to all sides of him, indicating that there was no space the Void did not fill.

"In the 'world' you are from, you are conditioned to only see what you believe is possible. Now you are going to have to do that which no one else can..."

"And what's that?" Carl asked.

"See the Truth."

Carl looked at younger Carl, younger Carl looked at Carl, both looked to Jacob.

"Excuse me?" One of them spoke, it was impossible to tell which.

"I thought truth was in the eye of the beholder." Carl ventured after a moment's silence. "That we both hold truths, but never the same..."

"Here is different." Jacob cut off. "In your world, human beings-Wizards more so-create reality. But the world you live in isn't the actual 'World' itself. In other words, what you see there isn't necessarily the true Cosmos. So your truth isn't _the_ Truth, very insightful of you to know that. What you perceive to be true there is actually a mixture of that which is unknowable and that which is yourself...

"But here, this is as close as one can get to the Beginning. It's not Timeheart—this is the Void. Here all is possible, you and I are simply three possibilities-to-be, and so is Tom. As always, the point is—if there would be a point—we are One." Jacob finished.

"I'd like to see Tom now please." Carl's younger self interrupted.

"I would as well." Carl affirmed.

The dogs barked.

Jacob looked between them, sighed, and then appeared to sit, though he did no more than fold his legs.

"Please, let me explain things a bit more first." Jacob motioned to the other two expectantly.

Carl breathed in resignation. "Very well," he said and crossed his legs.

The younger Carl looked like he wanted to oppose but in the end he too nodded and "sat".

"Hear me. Tom does not exist. But it wasn't always that way," Jacob reassured.

"I don't understand... how could he exist but not exist?" Carl admitted, baffled.

Jacob looked thoughtful. "There was a culture on Earth for a while that understood the concept very well. To them a state of being _was_ an attribute, as much as: 'It's red!' 'It's tall!' When you outline the look or feel or smell or sound or taste of something; that's attributing qualities to it.

"Well this culture had one more attribution to add: existence or nonexistence. You couldn't have one without the other. Existence and nonexistence coexist."

Carl and younger Carl looked at each other again. Both had raised eyebrows.

"Everything and nothing." Jacob went on, ignoring them. "We always take into account one but not the other. In other words—just like this Void—we need to create Light from Darkness... Tom from nonexistence."

"How do we do that?" Carl asked.

Jacob smiled and said. "It can be done. Know that. But first we have one more hurdle in our way. I said you and Tom's friendship would be tested. Well, this is the last time to back out."

"I would never!" Both Carls replied hastily.

Jacob held up a hand. "I need you to listen and consider this carefully. You need to take into account not only what Tom has done for you but, more importantly, what Tom has done for others..."

"What do you mean?" Younger Carl voiced softly.

"I think you already know. Tom gave you a wondrous Gift. That is indeed yours to throw away... but is it really fair to everyone you've touched? He touched?"

Carl's eyes widened, then closed. He understood.

He thought of all he'd seen and heard—about Anthony, Cecelia, his whole family—and more people. And more and more.

What would become of them if the timeline was tampered with again? To change the past was to change their fates.

All the lives of all those people...

Whether or not to throw away that Gift wasn't his choice to make.

"But what of Tom?" He asked with trepidation, his voice cracking slightly.

"Tom chose this Path, to give this Gift to you...and the world. Can you really undermine his wishes?"

This couldn't be...

He'd came all this way here and for what? So Tom could prove how noble he is?

But Carl knew that wasn't the reason,

"I can't do this without Tom." Carl choked, tears forming in his eyes.

"Yes you can, you have been for all of these years."

Suddenly it hit Carl like a freight train. The rest of his memories returned, the ones between his younger self and where he was now.

All without Tom.

Stephen

Alim.

William

Lydia

Nana

Tommy

Cory

Fiona

Trisha

Sally

Casey

Harry

Greg

Theo

Alex

Jack

Arthur

Abby

Lily

Bethany

Dominic

His newest charges:

Nita

Kit

...and so very, very many more.

It was proof that Carl was needed.

But he also remembered Tom. Them as joint Advisories, working together to stop Entropy and slow down the death of the universe...

Could he really survive without Tom? And if he couldn't what would happen to everyone?

Could the world survive without Tom?

Apparently... it could.

"I can't do this alone." Carl stated again vehemently. "I'm not that strong."

Tears streamed down his cheeks and from somewhere next to him he heard his younger self sobbing.

"This isn't fair!" His younger self wept.

"No it isn't," Jacob agreed. "But you do have a choice."

Carl looked up warily, asking...

"And what kind of choice is that?"

"To take his place. Tom gave his life to save you; you are also permitted to give your life to save him."

"I'll do it!" His younger self proclaimed instantly and without thought.

Carl though...

"No, no I can't." Carl recognized. All those he'd helped...what would happen to them? Even if Tom survived, there was no guarantee that all the good Carl had done, wouldn't be undone.

"My life... it isn't mine to give."

He looked to Jacob with watery eyes. "Damn you!" he cried. "Why did you have to get our hopes up? Why did you have to bring us here?!"

"I brought both of you here because here is where Tom's essence will reside."

The two Carls looked around hastily.

"Wait!"

"...what?"

After seeing only the Void, they looked to Jacob once again.

"Take a closer look at that rope you've made Carl. You'll find many, many lumps now and the greatest one is at your end. The rope led you... to you."

"You're confusing me!" Carl snapped. "First you say he doesn't exist, then you say I can take his place, and now you're saying that he's within me?"

Jacob nodded calmly, ignoring Carl's rage. "In order: yes he doesn't exist... yet. When he does exist then, yes, you can take his place. And yes, he has been with you all along—his memory lives in you. You two are One. That's the key to (re)creating his existence. And that is something miraculous, all things considering. He has yet to exist yet he exists in you because you know him. Creating Light from Darkness. Material from immaterial."

"A miracle, that's what it'll take." Carl muttered.

"That's what I brought you here for."

"What?!"

"You made the right choice. Anyone can die for someone, but to live for them? That takes courage. You didn't forsake Tom, Carl, not even once. Remember the tests I warned you of? Tests of dedication? Well you passed all three..."

"So now what? What does that mean?!"

Jacob chuckled. "It means you and Tom are _both_ too noble. Or too in Love... take your pick."

_In love?!_

It was as he suspected...

So why was he filled with so much fear?

Carl thought back on all they'd been through...

All the lifetimes and years between them...

All the give and take because one thought it'd be better for the other...

How could it be anything but Love?

Moreover, why was he so scared of it?

Why was he scared of loving Tom? Of Tom loving him?

Of Love Itself?

He's angry but why?

Because Love is a form of possession, isn't it?

Jacob cleared his throat. "You see, Carl, a while back you asked what I am... well, now is the time for me to reveal my identity. I am a mixture of yours and Tom's subconscious Will to protect each other—that Will took on a Life of its own. So I _am_ created from you and Tom. Hence I possess and guard all your memories from every possible event yet to come and those that have already past. That is how I was made. However, I cannot see the future this time, which means..."

He frowned. "Even I am unsure."

Neither Carl interrupted his thoughts, even after the silence went on for a while.

"And no," Jacob finally continued, "I don't know why Fate seems so fixated on keeping you apart. Just that every time it does, you two always do something miraculous. You must overcome it though, so that you and Tom may rest in Time's Heart and exist forever with one another. That is your final calling, I am sure of it."

"In what way did we do 'something miraculous'?" Carl asked.

"Didn't saving Anthony's Life count for anything? Even Mike and Chase and that pitiable Nathanial... don't they mean anything? In reality each Life _in_ the crowd is as important _as_ the crowd... Every Life counts. And because you saved those lives, you saved everyone."

"And what is our reward?!" Carl shouted suddenly, voice shaking and he himself close to hysterics. "A short time together before we're separated again and have yet another struggle to find the way 'home,' whatever that is..."

There was a pause, then...

"Home is where the Heart is, Carl. You told me that." Jacob said. "And your Heart is with Tom... isn't it?"

Carl was quiet.

"Well?"

Annie and Monty started growling.

"What do you two want?" Carl demanded. "What do you have to do with any of this anyway?!"

"Good question, Carl. You're the one who brought them here after all."

"What?" Younger Carl jumped in.

Jacob appeared thoughtful. "Dogs that were raised as guardians on a plane that doesn't yet exist," he explained thoughtfully. "We'll need the use of that plane to bring back Tom, that's why the dogs are here. As an anchor."

He faced Carl.

"Ok Carl. Take a deep breath. You can fight me if you want but this is the only option. I know a way to bring Tom home."

Carl's eyes widened.

"We can?!"

"How?!" Younger Carl chimed.

"First we need to recreate the _idea_ of Tom. This is the Void, here everything is possible and we are simply three possibilities. When it awakens and ignites it will create all that is possible, all that is our 'World,' and all that is without it. Becoming everything and nothing."

Suddenly he was more aware of his surroundings.

Or lack thereof.

It was all Light. The first Light. Before Darkness existed. The Universe was created from Light, not Darkness.

Wherever-or whenever-they were then... this was before the Big Bang.

"We have to create the seed of Tom's existence first, then sow it _into_ Existence, the plane that these dogs come from. Carl, it's time to bring Tom home."

"Tom...home?"

Jacob nodded, "Where the Heart is."

It seemed too good to be true but how could he not take the chance?

"Ok, what do I have to do?"

"Let's just think and talk of Tom for a bit. What was he like? What drew you to him? What did you love most and liked least about him? And most importantly, how did you come to Love him?"

"I remember him snoring," Younger Carl chuckled as both Jacob and Carl turned to him. "Sorry to Tom, but thinking about it I can't help but laugh. I mean, I'd never been in bed with him or anything; he'd just fall asleep in the grass next to me. He was a deep sleeper." Younger Carl grinned.

"Falling asleep next to someone is a sign of trust." Jacob said.

"He loved the stars," Carl found himself supplying, "when we first became Wizards that's all he wanted to do, visit star systems. Now that I think about it, I don't know why he ever took a position as one of Earth's advisories like I did..."

Jacob smiled, as though sharing a secret. "He did it to be with you."

And he was right. Carl knew he was. Now that he thought back to their most recent Life, it seemed that everything Tom had done, he'd done with Carl in mind...to stay close to him, to keep them always together.

Carl closed his eyes in pain. No physical pain—he had no body to speak of, just this mere projection—it was an ache. Like some part of himself had been torn from him long ago without his noticing or consent and without it, without _him_, he would feel this way forever.

There was a hole that needed to be filled.

He wanted to be possessed, Carl decided. He wanted to _belong_ with someone, _to_ someone. To Tom.

"Let's see what memories I can come up with..." Jacob began.

"Wait," Carl interrupted. "Before you start, there's something I've wanted to ask. How on earth did we manage to make you?"

"Well you didn't do it consciously first of all," Jacob answered. "Like I said before, I am your Will to protect each other, especially at the times when you two didn't even know one another... And don't take my outward appearance too seriously. I change whenever you two need me to, into whatever you need me to be.

"Now," he continued. "We must give our memories of Tom up as an offering to the One to bring Tom back. Come, let us reminisce..."

So they started talking and recalling memories, giving as many details as vividly as possible. And, slowly but surely, each time Carl listened he seemed to regain his memories—one after another—as each of them expressed a "story" about Tom.

Soon he would possess all the memories Jacob had to offer, except...

He was so obsessed with this that he almost missed it.

"Both of you, look." And Jacob motioned to where they had failed to notice what looked to be a crystal ball with lightning now floating in the balance of the Void. Inside scenes from his memories flickered to life.

"What is it?" Both Carls asked.

"_This_ is Tom's essence. The seed of Tom's soul. It has been revived by both you _and_ the Ultimate Creator. You have proved how much he is needed...and Loved."

Love.

Carl felt... something at the words.

But what exactly?

Relief, tinged with... dread?

When he looked back up, he saw both Jacob and his younger self watching him carefully.

"Okay." Carl's resolve firmed, his hands constricting into fists. "What do we do next?"

"_Now_ we need the dogs."

Carl and younger Carl looked to the dogs Jacob indicated.

_It's Time_, Monty said.

"It is," Jacob agreed.

"So how do we get there?" Younger Carl questioned.

"You're already there." Jacob said. "It's all in your mind and in your heart." He made to pat younger Carl over his heart but then something strange occurred...

While everyone was a ghost and not really there, Jacob was now more transparent than anyone.

Something was wrong.

He was vanishing.

Jacob looked down at himself and then at the Carls who looked on in concern. He smiled. "We might have to move this along a little faster..."

"But...but Jacob..." Carl's younger self stuttered. "You're..."

"Don't worry Carl," he addressed them both reassuringly. "This is what's supposed to happen. A Life for a Life."

"You're not saying..." Carl broke in.

"Yes I am saying," Jacob cut them off gently. "When Tom arrives, I'll disappear. There will be no more need of me. I'm the sum of his and your memories. We gave those to the One."

"But..." Now it was Carl's turn to stutter, "But why?! Why do you do this? You could be... I mean..."

"Yes, Carl, I do have a choice. I could lead a Life, you both gave me that option of freedom long ago, but I am _choosing_ this path. Not just because I was made for it—though it was—but because I care about you both." Jacob smiled.

"You two have given me and the world the gift of hope for our future. Besides that, if there exists such a thing as soul mates, Carl, then I think you and Tom are the archetype. There is nothing so beautiful in this world than pure Love. That I can contribute to that... that's worth 'dying' over."

Carl shook himself, trying to find emotional equilibrium.

"Let's find Tom." Jacob said. "It's ok, I'm still here for now. You haven't gotten rid of me just yet."

Jacob went on, "Now, welcome to the Dreamscape," and Jacob swept his arms out dramatically with a bow.

"That is what it is known as among those who are permitted to come here—and that is dogs and dogs alone. First look around you, describe it to me... what is it like?"

They looked around. It was still Light only... distorted Light.

Warped Light that was leaving both Carls dizzy and disoriented.

This was not a place where they could get any kind of grip on reality...

"It's..."

"It's..."

"Exactly. Indefinable. We've got the seed and we've got the Home of the Soul, all we do now is till a hole in reality, plant, and..."

"Then let's get started..." Younger Carl said impatiently.

"No," Jacob cleared his throat. "Not yet. There's still one loose end to worry about..."

Jacob held out his hand, "Carl if you'd please come with me."

Younger Carl made to hold his hand but was cast aside. "Not you Carl, the older Carl."

Carl hesitated, but then stepped up and took Jacob's outstretched hand.

The bottom dissolved beneath them and they fell forever.

And when he next opened his eyes, he wasn't sure whether or not he'd opened them at all.

There was darkness everywhere. No, more than that, it was a pitch black plane of existence. This was the Lone One's domain Carl realized with a shiver—Hell would be another word, separation from the One would be a fair definition—if anything that Jacob had said was true.

"That's right, we're going to take a look at the darker regions of your soul. What do you think Carl, are you worthy of Tom? Worthy of his sacrifice?"

Carl answered from his heart. "No, no I am not worthy."

"Thank you for being honest." Jacob's voice echoed.

"Is this the end then? Have I failed him?"

"'To make Light out of Darkness'...wasn't that your task?"

"What?"

"Why do you think you're unworthy?"

Carl peered into the darkness but he couldn't see Jacob, couldn't see anything...

"Because Tom deserves better! I'm far from..."

"But what if the one he Chooses is you?"

Carl swallowed.

"You look scared now Carl, what is it that you truly fear?" Jacob's voice rang through the darkness.

"It's selfish," Carl mumbled, having the distinct impression Jacob could hear every word.

"Well?" Jacob prodded after a few moments.

"The fact is I don't even know if I _can_ 'love' him like _that_... I don't feel that way towards him, I can't. I've always been taught it's wrong… So I can't give him everything but everything is what he deserves. Not a forced half-life with someone who could never touch him that way but a whole. Yet even knowingthat..." Carl shook his head. "I can't let him go, I _won't_ let him go, Jacob. He gave me a Gift, to love someone unhampered by his feelings... Why can't I do the same?! I want him and I can't… Let. Go." he choked on his tears, feelings cascading over him.

Suddenly there was a noise that sounded like a snapping of the fingers.

And then there was Light.


	22. Epilogue

_**EPILOGUE**_

_Past—__Carl's POV_

_May 20__th__, 1985_

Carl woke up disoriented, rubbing away the dust of sleep from his eyes as he yawned.

He had to blink several times before he could see anything and even after that things were blurry. Squinting, he made out shapes of sofas and tables, a TV, and everything else that altogether made up his and Tom's house...

His and Tom's?

No—a house without Tom. That wasn't a home.

_Where's Peach?_ Carl wondered faintly in a daze. _Where's Monty, Annie, and Dudley? _

Did they leave him too?

He tried to move but his limbs were stiff and the action was painful. Still he persevered and eventually sat up on the couch, head in his hands.

"Carl."

Carl froze for a moment, before he whipped around to face...

It couldn't be...

After all this time...

That voice...

"Ttttt..." Carl stuttered, unable to get out the name as he tried to speak and catch the breath he'd lost at the same time.

"Tom," Tom corrected with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

But Carl didn't notice, just stared...

And tasted salt.

When had he started crying?

Embarrassed, he tore his gaze from the precious sight of Tom to wipe tears from his eyes.

That's when he noticed it was silent. Completely silent. Not a bird chirped outside the window nor any breeze rustle the curtain.

Why was everything so quiet?

"Time hasn't started yet." Tom said, looking out the same window as he.

"What do you mean?" Carl asked.

"We still have choices to make Carl, ones that will affect this universe and many others."

"Why will it...?"

"Because it will determine whether or not human wizards exist..." Tom cut him short. "And it will also reseal the Chaos we've inflicted on this world. We have to set the timeline back to its original flow. The way it's supposed to be. The way it should be. The way it should have been."

Carl paused for a moment, then scrambled to his feet.

They stood there—him and Tom—looking at each other for a long while, and Carl couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't hugging Tom..?

And what made Tom look so sad?

He reached for Tom but at the last minute let his hand drop.

Tom smiled, but it appeared forced and strained, before he turned away and Carl couldn't see his face anymore. "Well I guess that answers that question."

"Wait, what...?" Carl looked at him confused and apprehensive, a sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach.

"What will happen I wonder? Will we ever meet? Or..." He let the rest trail off.

"Tom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, we're finally together again. That's all that matters, right?" But the words were hollow; there was no heart in them.

"Whatever made me think...?" Tom mumbled to himself bitterly, voice cracking and so low that Carl would've missed it if he wasn't hanging on Tom's every word.

"Tom, please, you're scaring me... what's happening?"

"Carl, if you had to choose only one memory from your past, of any lifetime—but only one—to occur, what would it be?" Tom asked, still not facing him.

Carl stopped what he was going to say and thought hard.

There were thousands of answers he could give, but none compared to...

"Right now."

Tom spun around so quickly Carl thought he was going to fall. He blinked at Carl, obviously it wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Excuse me?"

"I said 'right now.'" Carl repeated, knowing Tom had heard him the first time, then found himself explaining... "You don't understand, do you? Waking up to you. Having all the knowledge of our past lives together. Knowing what I've done for you. Knowing what you've done for me. All to make us happy but we both forgot something very important."

"And what's that?" Tom asked breathlessly.

"We're happiest when we're together." Carl said and, with a genuine smile, took a step forward, reached, and grabbed a hold of Tom's hand.

Tom's eyes widened, looking from Carl's hand on his to Carl, the hand, and back to Carl.

Then he seemed to relax and this time it was his turn to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

And when he was done, their gazes met.

"You see," Carl continued. "We're always saving each other. But we never seem to get to the good part..."

"And what's that?" Tom murmured, and his look was full of... hope.

"This," and Carl, without hesitation, tightened his grip on Tom's hand and propelled him forward.

He had made the decision in only a few seconds and God he hoped this would work. There was still a part of him that wanted to pull back now, that wanted to resist, that didn't want to know, that was scared of 'what if...', that was repulsed, that screamed about society and propriety and every single thing he'd been taught since before his Sacraments of Initiation.

But thankfully that was a relatively small part compared to his curiosity.

No, it was something from within him that moved him.

_Oh, by the Powers_ _please let this work_...

But he also knew the Powers had nothing to do with this.

Coming together was actually something natural—his body knew how to do it, like breathing or pulsing blood through his body—and it was as though they'd done it hundreds of thousands of times.

And hadn't they? He suddenly couldn't remember.

What he _did_ remember is they had each given up their own lives for the other's happiness. Multiple times.

That merits something.

That deserves something.

That's worthy of this...

When their lips did meet there was a spark—an honest-to-God spark of... something. Good? Bad? Desire? But that didn't deter them, it just made them press together even harder.

At first it was frantic, they were afraid something or some One was going to tear them apart. Again. But after a few minutes, when nothing and no One stopped them, they slowed down and Carl was able to enjoy it.

And that was just their outward reality.

_Please don't leave me again..._

That was the theme that both thought simultaneously.

_I would never..._

Was communicated through their souls.

And suddenly there were heartbeats pounding in their ears—two of them, racing together faster and faster...

He felt like he was on fire, but Carl couldn't bring himself to care. He would endure any amount of pain and/or pleasure if they could just stay here, this way, forever...

And then they came full circle. As their minds interwove, as their hearts gained a consciousness of their own, when they literally didn't know where one began and one ended... the memories of many many kisses to date and many many many more to come built up and came crashing down upon them—making the kiss that much more poignant and that much more aching. It was Eros as the form of desire and Logos as the only logical conclusion.

But there was reassurance there too in this kiss. Everything was going to be alright now. They were together.

Finally.

After all they'd given up everything for the sake of friendship...

No, for the sake of Love...

This was their due.

Carl could've sworn that his prayer had reached the One, that this kiss would never end, but it did.

Carl was disappointed and he refused to let go of Tom.

"I Love you," Carl confessed softly into Tom's shoulder when the kiss was over and he was in Tom's arms—like he should be, like he should have been all along—but loud enough that Tom heard every word. It wasn't enough.

It would never be enough but wasn't that the point? If it was enough, if it was complete, then they couldn't evolve, couldn't expect more, and Carl _wanted_ more still. Not just love and happiness but anger to overcome as well.

"What do we have to do to fix this?" Carl whispered.

"We... we have to reassemble a Timeline and put it into motion..." Tom said, biting his lower lip.

"And... what's wrong?" Carl asked, worried about Tom's reaction.

"I don't know what our part in it will be." Tom finished quietly.

Carl seemed to consider this. "Then let's do it again, from the beginning..."

Tom tilted his head—endearingly, Carl thought—in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we just came back from the Void right? Infinite possibilities...?"

"Right..." Tom trailed off.

"Hear me out... I think we're getting the chance of a lifetime—no eons, so to speak—to stay together. We have been in so many places, experienced so many possibilities, so let's choose which ones we want!"

"Can we? Can we really?" Tom asked dubiously, yet filled with hope.

"I'll start..."

_Present Day__—_Nita's POV

Nita blinked, then looked between the two and waited.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Nita wondered aloud...

"So... what happened next?"

Tom shrugged. "I met Carl at NYU. We became roommates, then Wizard Partners, then housemates, then Advisories, and then... well, now you know the rest."

"But... what's different?"

Tom smiled, then reached over to take Carl's hand in his. Carl squeezed back with a grin of his own.

"...oh yeah." Nita laughed.

Tom winked at her.

Nita grew silent fairly quickly though and appeared to be struggling with something.

"Nita, it's alright." Tom said after a few minutes of watching her at war with herself. "Say what you want. Ask us anything."

She turned a shade of red. "It's not that I'm not happy for you guys. It's just, if you guys had this miracle—which I definitely think you deserve—why can't..." She stopped herself and looked away.

"Why can't what?" Tom prodded gently.

"Why can't my mother come back?"

Tom leaned back into his chair and sighed. "You mean, why do bad things happen to good people? Why couldn't we have changed it?"

Nita nodded. "I mean, I'm assuming Anthony and Cecelia are alright now...?"

After a few moments Tom nodded. "Yes, Anthony graduated from medical school and just finished his internship; he's starting up a practice of his own. And I believe Cecelia married Rick last year..." Tom looked to Carl, who nodded.

"But then why...?"

Tom sighed again, but this time Carl answered.

"Sweetie, we don't know why... We think you're just as deserving as anyone can be for a miracle too."

Tom nodded in agreement.

"We couldn't change the way the world works, Nita. There's still pain and heartache and suffering. We tried to but, well, who wants to live in a world without that? That's not truly living; your mother taught us that much, didn't she? And while yes, it's true, that all of us have a modicum of say in the Universe, but—even as Wizards—we can't change everything... "

Tom tilted his head to the side, as if listening, then nodded again. "For example, Nita, your presence today has reestablished Order. You just changed the world! Of course, I suppose it took us admitting to what happened and for someone to listen and tell the tale thereafter..."

He cleared his throat and switched subjects, because he had to know... "And the fact that it was two male wizards in love—versus a male and a female—shouldn't change the story, should it?"

Nita shook her head vehemently. "No, not at all!"

"And that there are human wizards in the world is proof that our Ordeal is finally over." Carl said with certainty.

The dogs, who had padded into the middle of the room to lie under the coffee table, looked up at them at these words, and their eyes flashed gold mysteriously.

_"Well, not really..." _

There is no ending.

"Immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove..."

-Alfred Lord Tennyson


End file.
